


Unforgettable

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Human, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brain Damage, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Back Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Married Couple, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Aziraphale wakes up in a hospital. He's being told that he's married to a handsome man who is sitting by his bed, but Aziraphale won't be fooled. He wouldn't have forgotten being married. He wouldn't have forgotten a man like Crowley. He wouldn't have.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 306
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale comes to with a gasp. There are sickeningly bright lights above his head and the rhythmic sounds one would normally associate with a hospital, all around him. 

"Angel?" 

Aziraphale makes an effort to turn his head towards the voice. He has to blink a few times to make sure that what he sees is indeed… what there is. 

There's a tall man, red hair, tight clothes, sad face… That's a very handsome face, sharp and angular. He's a Modigliani made live… He's far too handsome for Aziraphale, or so Aziraphale thinks.

Modigliani incarnate rushes to his bed and grabs Aziraphale's hand. "Angel? Can you hear me? Do you see me? Angel…"

"Who are you?" Aziraphale asks.

"Angel… it's me, it's Crowley. I'm your husband." The man looks so sad Aziraphale is ready to marry him just to make him feel better, but it won't do. 

"Husband? I don't have a husband… where's my brother? Where's Gabriel?"

The man, Crowley, swallows and smiles. His smile is even sadder than his concern. 

"He's on his way, angel. He's on his way, it's going to be alright."

Gabriel arrives half an hour later. Aziraphale's head is killing him, but he's really happy to see his big brother.

"Crowley says you don't remember him," Gabriel begins. "Please, fucking please, Aziraphale, you can't forget the best thing that happened to you." 

Gabriel's eyes are red, he's been crying. Aziraphale can't remember his brother crying. He's always so strong and resilient. 

"I… I'm sorry, Gabriel. I don't remember him. What is there to remember?"

"Oh fuck!" Gabriel drops his head on Aziraphale's bed. "Look… look, we'll… we'll sort it out, ok? We'll solve it. You should rest. I'll be here, I swear."

Gabriel kisses Aziraphale's forehead. Aziraphale decides to listen to him and falls asleep. The sleep is more comfortable than the thought that he has lost his memories. 

"What should we do?" Crowley asks, biting his nails. 

"Stop biting your nails," Bea commands. "Tell me what happened."

"Well. Angel wanted his driving license…"

"You mean he's a worse driver than you?"

"Hey, do you see me there? No? So yeah, I'm a better driver. Now my husband can't remember me!"

"Calm down. It might be a matter of… days." 

"He's been here for a week, Bea! He's been unconscious and now he doesn't remember me!"

"Calm down! At least Gabriel isn't telling him that you're a trespasser or something!" Bea's eyes are red as well. 

"Thank whomever for small mercies! I courted him for six fucking years!"

"And now you'll have to court him again. I think. I don't know. Give it time."

Aziraphale doesn't recognise Bea either. 

"They are my spouse," Gabriel says. 

"You're married? How come I've missed it?" Aziraphale asks. Bea looks scary, but Gabriel seems happy to have them nearby, so it's alright, or it should be. 

"You haven't missed it. You and Crowley introduced us. Bea is Crowley's friend."

"I don't remember… I don't remember. It scares me. Please… Gabriel, could you stay?"

Gabriel does stay. He's mostly weeping and being entirely unhelpful. 

"Where do we take him?" Gabriel asks after Aziraphale falls asleep again.

"Home, obviously." Crowley almost snarls, but remembers himself. 

"He doesn't remember it being your home," Gabriel argues. 

"He sold his bookshop. There's no other home. He doesn't remember Bea either!" Crowley is angry, so angry that he's scarier than Bea.

"Angel? Angel, can you look at me?" Crowley implores. 

"I don't know you! I don't know why you're here! Where's Gabriel?" Aziraphale likes the man, he'd like to take him out, probably, but he's fashionable and beautiful. Aziraphale doesn't ask the men like Crowley out because there's only so much rejection he can handle.

"Gabriel is taking Bea home. He'll be back soon." Crowley aches to take Aziraphale's hand, but he resists. He's sitting by Aziraphale's bed but he's comfortably far. 

"I find it very unlikely that I've forgotten having a husband. Or that Gabriel has a spouse. I… I'm sorry, but I don't trust you."

"I know, angel, I know…"

The door slides and a doctor steps in. She's young and is wearing thick glasses. Now that Aziraphale thinks about it he finds it deeply disconcerting that Crowley is wearing sunglasses indoors.

"Hello," the doctor says. "My name is Ana Device. I'm a neurologist. I'm here to help you. Can you tell me your name?"

"Of course! I'm not mad! My name is Aziraphale Fell. I own and run a bookshop in Soho." Aziraphale feels certain and a little bit smug.

Dr Device nods and sits by Aziraphale's bed. "Do you know where you are, Aziraphale?"

"Apparently in a hospital. My head hurts. I have migraines, but it doesn't justify a hospitalization! I want to go home."

"Of course, Aziraphale. You're right, you're in a hospital. You're here because there's been an accident."

"Accident? Like, a car accident?"

"Yes." 

"I don't even drive. I don't like being here. I don't like being patronized. I want to go home."

"Aziraphale," Dr Device begins calmly, "you can't go home right now, you're not well. You've had a concussion and a few broken ribs. You've been here for a week, mostly unconscious. You have to stay for a bit longer so that we make sure you're alright."

Aziraphale thinks that it makes sense. "Fine. But I don't want this man here. He insists that he's my husband and I have no memory of him. I wouldn't have forgotten my husband!" Aziraphale feels indignant.

Dr Device nods again. "I know, it must be disorienting. Mr Crowley here is listed as your emergency contact. And your spouse."

"It can't be. Gabriel is my emergency contact, and if he managed to go and get married while I was here…"

"I see," Dr Device says softly. "I don't want to scare you, Aziraphale, but you've suffered a serious brain trauma. It might be difficult to come to terms with it, and I'm here to help you. For now, you should rest. Mr Crowley will go home." She looks at Crowley sternly and he gets up. 

"Ok. I will. Sure. Good night, angel." He walks out slowly, his shoulders hunched. 

"Unbelievable! Who does he think he is? Sauntering in and claiming himself my husband!" Aziraphale huffs. 

"Aziraphale, he is your husband. I understand that very little makes sense right now and he will not bother you unless you're ready, but for now it's really important that you understand that… you don't remember at least the last six years of your life."

"I don't believe you," Aziraphale says. "You make me uncomfortable and I want you to leave. I'm being tricked here. Who are you?"

"I'm Dr Ana Device, I'm a neurologist," Dr Device says calmly and softly.

"You're treating me as a mad man, and I'm not! I'm not!"

"I'm not saying you are, Aziraphale. Do you want me to leave you?"

"Yes. Please. I want to be transferred somewhere else. I don't want to be here."

"I'm afraid it's impossible. You're not stable, Aziraphale, and you need to breathe with me. Can you do it? Slowly. In - and out. In - and out. Like smelling and blowing over soup. In - and out. In - and out."

Aziraphale falls back asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! You are all incredible and amazing. So here's a double update because I love you all.

There's a quaint little cottage in South Downs. It overlooks the sea and has a remarkably well-tended garden. It's not a place where a man like Crowley could be easily pictured. It seems he belongs in a slick penthouse with impractical furniture and a coffee machine that can take you to Mars and has a radio and makes barely tolerable coffee. 

Unsurprisingly, Crowley used to have such a penthouse. He sold it when he got married. It's not that he can't afford both. Crowley can afford anything. He's in high demand in the world of high-tech. 

But right now he's sitting in his living room, if of course his posture can be called sitting. It's more like he pretends that a chair is a toast and he is melted butter. It does nothing to hide his nervousness and fear and red-rimmed mismatched eyes - yellow and black. The mess on his hair is just that - a mess, nothing stylish about it. 

"So… what do we do?" Gabriel begins. 

"You take him back to yours. I think for the meantime Bea has to stay with me." Crowley bites his nails. Bea reaches out to him from the sofa and slaps his hand away. 

Honestly, Bea doesn't belong here either. They also look like someone who could use a penthouse decorated to resemble a stylish sex dungeon. Or just a dungeon. They are of a small stature, but the look of their black eyes could wipe you out of existence, should Bea desire so. They usually don't desire so, but you never know. 

"But you dated!" Gabriel exclaims. 

"Yes, and?" Bea asks. "We're married now and you'll behave for the sake of your brother."

"I will," Gabriel resigns. "Or maybe each of you could rent a place in London?"

"Actually, this is brilliant. We should." Bea looks at Crowley. 

"Alright. Whatever. Angel doesn't like when I'm being extravagant." Crowley smiles sadly.

"Unless an old book is involved," Bea says softly. 

"Or unless he's being extravagant with you," Gabriel adds. He doesn't look out of place here because he's a man who makes every place seem as if he owned it. His suit is immaculate, his jaw is square, so square it's Pythagorean. He's an ideal male speciman. And Bea could turn him into a purring kitten if they want. 

"Anyway. He should stay with you for now," Bea decides to reduce Gabriel to a kitten out of the goodness of their heart and obvious fondness for their husband. 

"Aziraphale won't take well the news about his bookshop," Crowley remarks and everyone says _fuck_.

Aziraphale awakes with a scream of horror, and when there are two nurses checking on him, he begs them to give him back his phone, he needs to make a call, he doesn't want to be here, he's scared, he needs help…

Aziraphale is weeping. The nurses look at each other. 

"Dr Device said no tranquilizers," one nurse says. 

"Yeah, but he's about to run away…" The second nurse bites his lip and turns back to Aziraphale. "Aziraphale, could you please look at me? The doctor is on her way, we've just paged her. Your phone, I'm afraid, was lost in the accident. Your husband…"

"I don't have a husband! Let me go!"

"Good morning, Aziraphale." Dr Device strides into the room, confident and calm. "I'll take it from here." She smiles at the nurses and they leave. "How are you feeling?"

"Trapped! I'm trapped here! I… my bookshop. I need to call my assistant. He must be worried sick! He's always worried, poor boy." Aziraphale tries to get up, but his head starts to swim and the world goes blurry. 

"I'm afraid it would be better for you to lie down." Dr Device helps him to settle back on his pillow. "What is your assistant's name?"

"Newt Pulsifer. I wonder why he hasn't come to visit. Is he alright?"

"I will check on him and ask him to come." Dr Device doesn't sound patronizing or particularly evil, but Aziraphale is so wound up he can't contemplate how anyone can remain calm when the world is so blurry and makes so little sense. "Do you want to see Gabriel?"

"Yes. Yes. Will he come? He wouldn't have left me! When our parents died, he took care of me, you know? He's only two years older, but I'm a bit of a… dreamer, I suppose? He always supports me, even when he doesn't agree with me… I want to see him."

"I'll call him as well, although I'm sure he's on his way to you. Are you hungry?"

"I am, come to think of it. I'm very hungry. Maybe Gabriel can bring me something I like?" Aziraphale looks at Dr Device with pleading eyes. 

She laughs. "You have him wrapped around your finger, don't you, Aziraphale? He's very lucky to have you. And you're lucky to have him. I'll come to visit a bit later. Rest."

Aziraphale can't rest but there isn't much to do and he's unable to move without the world going blurry again. His head is killing him, an endless throbbing pain pushing its way out of his skull. 

He's given something against the pain but he doesn't want to slip into slumber again. He loses that fight soon after. 

  
  


When he wakes up, again, he sees Gabriel and a few trays of sushi arranged in front of him.

"Hey, brother. Brought you some sushi. What is it with you and raw fish, I wonder?" Gabriel smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Oh, my dear! You spoil me so! And you shouldn't be worried! I'll be right as rain as soon as I'm back home. Do you know if Newt is coming to visit?" 

Gabriel looks lost for a moment. "Newt is at work. He teaches computer literacy classes, he will come as soon as he can."

"Computer literacy? But he breaks everything he touches! And if he's teaching, who's tending to the shop?"

"Aziraphale…" Gabriel takes a deep breath. "Aziraphale, you sold your shop about two years ago."

"No! No, I couldn't have!.. You… you sold it! Oh, you were always against it! Said it was a waste of my money! How could you? My collection…"

"Your collection is safe," Gabriel says, far too calmly. "And what the fuck, Aziraphale? I wouldn't do such a thing to you!"

"You wouldn't have? Then why are you telling me I sold it? I'd never do it!" Aziraphale pushes away trays of sushi and they land on the floor. Gabriel curses. 

"Do you want to see the paperwork? It has your signature, you know."

"You must have… Why?"

Aziraphale is crying and it's not a sight that Gabriel can bear well. It's a sight no one can bear well because Aziraphale does look like an angel. His matted white curls and his twinkling blue eyes and his soft, round complexion make him into a lovely cherub, and the cherub is crying. 

"Aziraphale, I swear I didn't sell your shop. I couldn't have. It belongs to you, remember?"

"But you're my brother! And if you had me declared insane…"

"Sunshine, I know you're insane. You've always been insane. Romantic and idealistic and foolish and kind to a fault. I wouldn't do such a thing to you. I swear… I swear on Bea!" Gabriel realises his mistake even before he finishes the sentence. 

"And how come you married while I was here?"

"I married about six months ago, Aziraphale. You were at our wedding."

"I would have remembered! It can't be, it can't be!"

Gabriel curses again and sits on the edge of Aziraphale's bed, gently cupping his brother's face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's alright. We'll figure it out, ok?"

"You must have been dating and… and planning to propose. Tell me about her. Or is it him?"

"It's they. Bea is agender."

"Oh… I see. Are they good for you?"

"Very. I love them very much. They are somehow stupid enough to love me too." Gabriel smiles like a smitten fool. 

"You deserve love, Gabriel. I'm glad for you. Just… don't lie to me."

"Ok, ok, sunshine. I won't."

Gabriel cleans the mess Aziraphale has made, which gives him a good opportunity to cry and curse terribly. He's brought enough sushi for ten people, so he just pulls out more trays and arranges them in front of Aziraphale again. 

Aziraphale fumbles with the sticks, but it's to no avail. Gabriel hand feeds him, claiming he's never really learned to use the sticks well. In truth, his hands are shaking too much. He wants to run back to his office, tell his assistant to go fuck herself and his schedule and then rush back to Bea and curl at their feet. Everything makes more sense with Bea. 

  
  


Dr Device visits Aziraphale again, right after Gabriel leaves. 

"Doctor! My brother… he's sold my shop! My livelihood! Please, you have to believe me! I need to see Newt."

"Aziraphale!" Dr Device raises her hand. "I see that you're scared. I see you're confused. I don't mean you any harm, neither does Gabriel…"

"But you don't understand! I'm… trapped here! Someone… someone has to trust me! I'm not mad, I know who I am!"

"Breathe with me," Dr Device says in a tone that bears no argument. "Breathe with me… like over soup, in and out, in and out… you're doing beautifully. Now, it must be very frightening to think that no one believes you or that everyone is against you, including your loved ones. But you're a clever man, aren't you?"

Aziraphale nods eagerly. 

"Do you think that it's entirely possible to sell your property and convince quite a few people to trick you? Do you think it's plausible?"

"It shouldn't be! That's why I don't understand…"

The door slides away and in walks a young and lost man in glasses. He's dressed messily and his eyes are blown wide with worry. 

"Newt!" Aziraphale exclaims. 

Dr Device looks Newt up and down and nods approvingly. "Aziraphale, do you want to be left alone with Newt? I can return to you later. Just call for the nurse and they'll page me."

Aziraphale doesn't pay her any attention and tries to sit up and reach for Newt. 

The man walks across the room. He walks like a toddler, barely sure what it is he's doing, but he makes it to Aziraphale's bed - and Aziraphale's many monitors black out immediately, to Aziraphale's delight. 

"I see, my dear, you're just as catastrophic as I remember! At least some things don't change in a span of a week…"

"Hi, Aziraphale," Newt greets meekly. "I'm sorry I was at work and couldn't… couldn't leave my class…"

Aziraphale's face darkens. "What class? Are you in their… their plot?"

Newt looks around in panic. "Their plot? Whose plot?"

"You let them sell my shop, didn't you? You helped them." 

"Aziraphale… it's been two years. You were very eager to sell the shop…"

"Leave me! Leave me, I can't bear it! Why would you do it to me? What have I done to you to justify such behaviour?"

"Aziraphale, I would never…"

"But you did! You tricked me! All of you tricked me!"

Aziraphale thrashes and screams until his throat is hoarse. He sees Newt retreat, scared and upset, he sees the nurses rush in and Dr Device talking to him - he only sees her talking, he can't hear a thing. 

Then everything goes black.

Gabriel runs into his office and plants his hands on the desk of his PA, Michael. She looks up at him, puzzled. "Yes?"

"I need the pictures."

"Be more specific. How is Aziraphale?"

"He's paranoid and I'm not ready. I need the pictures… of his wedding."

"Oh, that was a pretty one!" Michael turns to her computer but notices Gabriel's glare and misreads it. "Yours of course was much better. All that Halloween vibes, black cobwebs, and all the handmade flies… so festive."

Gabriel growls. 

"You know what? I'll get you the pictures and cancel the rest of your meetings. Come on, what's the point of being the name partner if you can't use all those young lawyers to your benefit, am I right? You just go and… call Crowley. Or Bea. Better Crowley. Another session of phone sex with Bea and I quit."

Gabriel blushes but obliges. 

He calls Crowley. 

"Ok, so your dear husband thinks I sold his bookshop and the whole world is against him." Gabriel finds his secret stash of Marlboro and bourbon. Damn those buildings where one can't open the windows and indulge in sin properly!

"You do look like a proper corporate scumbag," Crowley deadpans. 

"That's rich, coming from you!" Gabriel drags a chair under the fire alarm and swiftly turns it off. Now he can smoke and pretend to be a corporate scumbag some time in the seventies. 

"I just make those silly apps that allow people to waste their lives doing silly things. Doesn't make me a scumbag. More like a demon, I guess…" 

Both men sigh. 

"You're smoking?" Crowley asks. 

"Don't tell Bea. They like to do it with me."

"Spare me the details. What does the doctor say?" 

Gabriel hears Crowley light up his own cigarette. "I couldn't talk to her. I really needed to punch something."

"I know the feeling. I got Bea a flat in your building. You can have your illicit affair without much trouble."

"What about you, Crowley? What about your affair? Fuck, he had been a total idiot for six years and now he doesn't remember you!"

"Why, thank you for driving that spear deeper into my heart. Scumbag."

"Demon."

They breath smoke into their phones for a few moments. 

"I found a flat not far from you. Same neighbourhood. I don't want to appear a creep."

"As you can see, we all appear creeps to him. It's not fair."

"Gabriel, life is never fair. Where have you been?"

"Up my corporate arse?"

"Fair enough, surprisingly."

They keep smoking in silence. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Double update, so check up on chapter two before you read this one. The angst is over. It's just fluff from here on. Well, there's a bit of angst. But more fluff. All my 💕

Aziraphale at least recognises Gabriel's flat and he has agreed with Dr Device that it would be better to stay with Gabriel in the meantime. 

Gabriel takes his brother to the guest bedroom. "Here are your things. And some books, too. Crowley picked them, so…"

Aziraphale steps closer to an obviously new bookshelf and runs his fingers along the well-worn spines. "He must know me quite well," Aziraphale mutters. 

"He does. Knows you better than anyone else, I think." Gabriel smiles. "You were unbelievably idiotic when you two met. He was too, but he was adorable, you were just irritating. Per usual." Gabriel is speaking in good humour, so Aziraphale doesn't mind. 

"And here," Gabriel takes something out of the bedside table. "Here's your wallet. Crowley renewed all your credit cards and suchlike. I didn't look inside." Gabriel hands Aziraphale his wallet. 

It's made of good leather, has Aziraphale's initials on it. 

"He tends to spoil you rotten, you know?" Gabriel says. 

Aziraphale opens the wallet. There's a generous amount of cash and Van Gogh's sunflowers on one card and Michelangelo's David's genitalia on another. "Sassy…" Aziraphale snorts. 

"You have no idea. He took the liberty of reissuing your documents, passport and the like. It's there as well." Gabriel points to the bedside table. 

"Is he angry with me?" Aziraphale asks.

"Angry with you? He can't be angry with you, ever. You had cold feet on the day of your wedding and he wasn't angry with you even then."

Aziraphale sits on the bed. "Who am I?"

"Don't go Shakespeare on me, sunshine, you do have a husband for this kind of shit."

"Where is he?"

"In London. We talked to Dr Device and agreed that it's better to take some time. You know, so that you adjust to the idea of being off the market." Gabriel smiles. 

"Was I ever on the market?" Aziraphale chuckles. "I remember being very insecure."

"It didn't prevent you from sleeping your way through Soho. You slut." Gabriel sounds affectionate and wistful. 

"Oh dear." Aziraphale looks scandalised. "I do remember that… I'm quite a good lover, I believe."

"You'd better."

"Can I… can I see my shop?"

"Sure. Why not? You're ok with cars?"

"As long as I'm not driving."

They drive to Soho. Where Aziraphale's shop used to be, there's a vintage looking sex shop. 

"I think I approve. If only I could remember selling my own…"

"Don't worry, I didn't believe you at first. Thought you were going mad or something. Had a terrible argument with Crowley over it."

"Do you… do you know how we met? Can you tell me?"

"I think I have something a bit better… or worse. Depends on your reaction. Come on, let's get home. Unless you want to buy a sparkling dildo or something."

Aziraphale giggles. "Don't you have to be at work, though?"

"I'm a name partner and I'm obnoxious for you, sunshine."

"You're a name partner?" 

"You know I find it more offensive that you don't remember my success. Or my marriage. I mean, you were such a fool with Crowley, maybe it's even better that you don't remember any of it, but me, I deserve better."

"I can't control it, you know?"

"I do. But if I stop teasing you, I will cry."

  
  


It's a wedding video. There are flowers and everything is so pretty it takes Aziraphale's breath away. 

"Bea made the video," Gabriel explains, settling next to Aziraphale on the bed. "So it's shaky and they giggle all the time. But… it's cute I think."

Aziraphale looks at the video. He's wearing a white suit and Crowley is wearing black - and the sunglasses. 

"Why is he wearing sunglasses indoors?" Aziraphale asks. He can't take his eyes off of the image of Crowley, elegant and smart, his hair a fiery crown on his head.

"He has a lot of eye issues. One eye is stone dead, he has coloboma in the other, besides that, photophobia. 

"Oh, poor darling…"

"He'd kill you for saying it. But nevermind. It's my speech. I was your best man." Gabriel turns the video on.

"Well, hello, everyone," Gabriel in the video begins. "This is a happy occasion and I'm here to spoil it for everyone involved, mostly for Crowley's sake. Why, you ask me?"

Someone's voice, must be Bea, mutters that _no one asked you, you idiot_.

"Because my brother often doesn't see a good thing when it stares him in the eye. Deadly." Gabriel winks at Crowley who blushes fetchingly and takes Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale kisses him on the cheek, and Crowley blushes more. 

"Six years ago my brother called me in the evening and told me that he had the most confusing interaction of his life. He told me that a tall gentleman sauntered into his shop during a storm. He told me that the gentleman was very handsome but had no idea how a human skeleton should work. 

"The gentleman shook himself like a dog, and that's a quote, and kept standing by the door. 

"Aziraphale went down and asked how he could help. The gentleman shrugged and said, and I quote again, that it went down like a lead balloon."

Aziraphale sees Crowley facepalming and trying to drown himself in his empty plate. 

"Aziraphale asked the gentleman about his reading preferences, to which my new brother-in-law replied, quite angrily, according to Aziraphale, that he was dyslexic and preferred audio dramas anyway. 

"Somehow they ended up talking religion. Crowley here is a devil's advocate, so he kept mocking the Scripture and Aziraphale kept being scandalised in that adorable manner of his you all know. 

"Aziraphale finished his tale of woe by saying that the lanky gentleman dared to ask Aziraphale out for dinner. 

"I had a feeling, or I like to think that I did, that this lanky gentleman would become an important person in my life. 

"And I was right! I'm standing here now, six years later, six years of Aziraphale being terribly oblivious and Crowley being terribly courteous, to congratulate Mr and Mr Crowley-Fell. Well-done, Crowley. Now he's your problem and I'm very happy for him and for you of course. You both are idiots and I love you so very much. Cheers."

The video ends. 

"Oh," Aziraphale says. 

"Don't tell me. Terrible speech, I know. But… that's how you met."

"And it took me six years to agree to marry him?"

"It took you six years to agree to a date with him." Gabriel shakes his head. 

"Why… why would I do that?" Aziraphale asks, incredulous.

"Well, it's a long story. Maybe you want Crowley to tell it to you?"

"No! No! He must hate me… for not recognising him! For rejecting him for so long! No… I think it's better that I don't know a thing… Do you think… do you think you could tell me something about those six years?"

"You didn't tell me everything. I'm not sure Crowley told Bea everything… Do you think you want Newt to tell you what he knows?"

Aziraphale nods but he's half asleep already. He's confused and his dreams will be very confusing. 

  
  


He wakes up to the sound of arguing voices in the kitchen. Gabriel's voice is booming and Newt's voice is sweet and meek. 

Aziraphale gets up slowly. He needs to get used to it, he thinks, to being able to stand up and to walk, even if he needs to lean on the walls as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Morning, Aziraphale. I called Newt and I forced him to come here!" Gabriel says proudly. 

"I didn't want to confuse you!" Newt says. 

"It's alright, my dear. It's fine. I'm sorry I scared you. I scare myself a lot these days. Why don't we have some tea?"

"I'm off to work, but I'll be back soon." Gabriel takes a phone out of his pocket, slick and modern. "Crowley dropped it off last night…" Gabriel blushes like a bride. "I… visited Bea when you fell asleep. Crowley left it there… But it has all your contacts and unlocks when it sees you!" With that Gabriel drops the phone on the kitchen counter and scurries away.

Newt giggles.

"So… tea?"

"I'll make you some!" Newt volunteers and proceeds to break the teapot. 

Aziraphale sighs and makes his own tea. The fridge is full of his favourite foods. Gabriel's hasn't ever paid much attention to Aziraphale's tastes, since Gabriel uses food as a fuel, but the choice indicates that whoever it was that brought those things, knew what Aziraphale likes. 

"So… Gabriel told me you wanted my… memories about you and Crowley meeting." Newt is red as a rose and doesn't move lest he breaks something else.

"Yes. It sounds… awfully romantic. I think." Aziraphale bites a piece off a cucumber sandwich. It tastes so good, it's just how he likes it, and as far as Aziraphale can remember, no one makes them so. 

"Crowley made them for you," Newt suddenly says. "He always brings you breakfast. It hasn't changed, I see. He's always been like that."

Aziraphale swallows his mouthful and downs half a cup of tea. 

"So… tell me, then."

"Well… it was raining cats and dogs. We'd had a slow day, just as you like. Then Crowley walked in. He was wet and pissed off about it. I was in the backroom, so I didn't hear much, but you were very grumpy when you came back. Told me that someone talked you into all sorts of blasphemous thoughts and ideas. Then you paused and told me he was beautiful. Then you cursed him and his entire family. Then you said he asked you out and that you refused. Vehemently." Newt giggles. "You kept talking about him through the day and the following day as well. I was confused, to be honest… You just couldn't stop. Cursed his cheekbones - too sharp and too pretty. Cursed his clothes - too tight and too revealing. Cursed his voice - too enticing and tempting and mocking and funny. You just couldn't stop!" Newt shakes his head. "His sunglasses, his manners, his hair, his gait. I decided to just nod and agree. 

"The next morning he came by and brought you a croissant. Not _just_ a croissant. It was fresh, filled the whole shop with the smell of butter and almonds. You ate it. And cursed him again…" Newt smiles at Aziraphale. 

"And… it went on like that for six years?"

"Oh no. It was much more… adventurous."

"So, tell me more! Tell me something!"

Newt hums. 

"Well, he'd come every day with another pastry. You always avoided him. So he stopped… I saw him once or twice walking by and gazing at our door. 

Then one day you saw him walking by. You stormed out and told him he was an entirely untrustworthy man, and if he took to bringing you breakfast, then he had no right to give it up, because you relied on him. He grinned at you. I thought you'd have a stroke."

"It doesn't sound like me. I don't tease my… interests."

"Oh, rest assured, I told you that. You yelled at me for an hour. You walked around the shop, reshelving and suchlike, and told me how entirely unfair it was that someone like Crowley decided to bring you breakfast. You told me he was too beautiful. That he had to have some… foul plans. And you were very proud that you didn't go to dinner with him.

"One day a flower shop across the street turned out to be involved with the mafia, so there were police and bystanders… we were all out, staring at the proceedings. Obnoxious, we were. 

"Crowley came by, with some pastry, per usual. He made his way to you. He's always had that… snake-like grace. I saw you two talking. He was teasing you, mercilessly. You were trying not to laugh. In the end Crowley pushed the paper bag into your hands and stormed away… Well, he sauntered away. You kept looking at him as if… it was like a song, you know? _Every time you go away, you take a piece of me with you_ ," Newt sings badly. "You turned to me then and told me that he was terrible and you couldn't stand a minute more in his company. You ate the pastry. Licked your fingers. I teased you about it, told you that Crowley would love to see you licking your fingers… You almost fired me." Newt chuckles. "When he came back the following morning, you were so very cross with him he lost all his composure and asked you straightaway if he should never visit you again. You stuttered and muttered and bubbled. He smiled at you, grinned really. There was that knowing nod of his. As if… as if he'd known you better than you yourself had. You got even angrier - and demanded that he brought two pastries. He did. The very next day." 

"You… you must love him," Aziraphale hears himself say.

"I'm straight. But he brought out the… naughtiest in you. You're always so knowing and wise, Aziraphale, but you were just bubbling and cursing when Crowley was around."

Aziraphale looks into his tea. It hurts, to have forgotten himself being so unsure and smitten that he became almost rude… "I think it's enough for today, Newt. Thank you so much, my dear."

Newt gives Aziraphale an awkward hug and leaves. 

Aziraphale takes his phone and looks at the screen that magically unlocks before Aziraphale can even take in his own reflection. There's a message from Gabriel. 

_Crowley says there are all your pictures and videos on your phone. He's not sure you should see them but he wanted you to have them all the same. Says it's all stupid and ridiculous, in his opinion, but he hasn't looked._

Aziraphale goes to the gallery. There are endless pictures of Crowley - shaving, styling his hair, smiling at Aziraphale, sleeping… 

It's a picture of Crowley's hand with a wedding ring on it that makes Aziraphale cry again. Crowley's hand is resting on Aziraphale's naked stomach.

There's a video next to it which Aziraphale turns on. 

"So, this is me, Aziraphale Crowley-Fell. I hereby confirm that I've been buggered into our brand new bed and don't want to get up…"

There's shuffling somewhere and there's a voice, Crowley's voice, demanding that Aziraphale stops right now, and the image is shaking. "I testify that my husband doesn't want anyone to know that I'm making this video. He's trying to wrestle the phone he gave to me out of my hands. I say it's his fault, because I didn't know I could make those hilarious videos before he gave me this devilish device. It's solely for my use, Crowley! Stop it…" The image turns black because apparently Aziraphale lost his wrestling match and then there are sounds of kissing and giggling. 

And then there's Crowley's whisper, so quiet Aziraphale can scarcely hear it. He can't make out the words but the voice is tender, smitten even. "Turn the damn thing off, angel, I don't want a sex tape!" "Oh no, love, I wouldn't dream of it."

The camera is lifted and it's Aziraphale with Crowley hiding his face on Aziraphale's shoulder. "You look well, dear boy." "Shut up, angel, and turn it off!" "And they say I am a technophobe. Insufferable."

Aziraphale stares at the last shot. He's content and naked. Crowley is blushing so hard he's all red like a boiled crab. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love warm comments and I cannot lie.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for swooning and waterworks. I warned you.

Aziraphale stares at his phone. He has always been alright with being overwhelmed and showing it. He tried to control himself, to be more like Gabriel, but it didn't work for him and in the end he just went with it and had no regrets. Gabriel let go too eventually. 

Yet, at the moment Aziraphale is in so much pain that he doesn't know what he can do. He can't find any tears to shed, he can't properly breathe. He's had a happy life, a happy marriage, by all accounts, and he can't remember any of it. There's a void in his memory, indifferent and gaping. It did feel better to be unaware of it. 

He'd like to talk to someone about it, but he doesn't want to talk to anyone he knows, no, remembers. He wants to talk to Crowley, he wants Crowley to stand there clearly and fill that void. 

It makes Aziraphale let out a sad laugh - he wants Crowley to come and rescue him and explain it all to him. Aziraphale might not remember Crowley, but looking at him, he wants him. It should be helpful that they figured everything out once. Crowley will be kind to him, Aziraphale is sure of it, so he calls him. 

"Angel?" 

Aziraphale shuts his eyes and bites his lip, hard. It hurts to hear Crowley and to have no memory of him… 

"Angel, are you alright?"

"Hello, Crowley."

Crowley gasps. "Hey… how are you?"

"I'm… irrevocably sad."

"What is it, angel?" Crowley's voice is soothing, it's comforting, it's _there_. He fits the void. It's Crowley-shaped, after all. He tugs at its edges and pulls them around himself. Aziraphale can't remember him, he can't, but there's a part of him, nagging and scared, that keeps calling out to that man on the other end of the line. 

"I can't remember you and it hurts. I looked at the pictures on my phone… Thank you. Thank you for the books and the food and the phone and for… waiting for me."

"I'll always wait for you, angel. I didn't mean to upset you, though. I just… had a friend restore your phone, contacts and media and all. Didn't want to pry."

"We seem to have been very happy."

"We were very happy, angel. Stupidly so."

Aziraphale can't stop a sob to crawl out of his throat. 

"Angel, please… it's alright. You don't have to remember me. It would be nice of course, but it's not something that's up to you or under your control. I won't say it doesn't hurt. It hurts so fucking much! But… I can wait. And you can tell me to fuck off. Or go out with me… Sorry, I… it's fucking predatory. I'm sorry."

"Tell me… tell me about us, please."

"I don't think it's right. It's like… as if I were forcing my memories on you."

"Consider it a transplant, then. It might not be strictly mine, but what if it's life saving?"

"You're so clever, angel. So fucking clever and I…" Crowley stops himself but Aziraphale is sure he knows how that sentence was about to end.

"Tell me… tell me you love me." Aziraphale closes his eyes. 

"I love you, angel. You're it for me, and even if we never get back together, I firmly believe that the sun rises and sets because there's you. I do mean it. I'm corny as fuck, but I mean it. I want you to be happy. I want you to be healthy. I want you to be well. Nothing made much sense before I met you."

Crowley is silent for a moment. Aziraphale suspects he's crying too. 

"Did we have the first dance?"

"No, angel. You dance beautifully, but when I'm dancing people tend to think I'm having a seizure."

Aziraphale laughs, which sounds wrong and wet, mixed up with his tears. 

"So… we didn't dance? What did we do?"

"Got very drunk. Got driven to our house in South Downs. It was our wedding gift to ourselves. You must have some pictures of it on your phone."

"I wondered what could have brought you to such an… old-fashioned place. You appear to have an acute, sharp presence. Cut through the scenery…" Aziraphale has to lick his lips. "And seeing you lounging on a tartan blanket is…"

"It's you, angel. You did the decor. I resigned myself to the garden and plumbing and the likes. You totally destroyed every salesperson you met. The way you negotiated the price for our sofa… Fuck, you were scary. And then you went and insisted on a proper restoration job… I tried to hold it together, I swear, I did, but in the end we spent half an hour snogging in the car. You didn't agree to let me suck you off. Snogging was a middle ground."

"My dear, we sound positively atrocious."

"Tell me about it. We tend to drive people crazy… I think they are just jealous. But when I was courting you, everyone used to tell me that it was sickening and had to count for public indecency."

"Where was our first date?"

"Well… it took me some time, a few years actually to convince you we could have one, and along the way we had quite a lot of dates, that weren't dates, anyway… Our first date-date was in the Ritz."

"Lovely… do you remember what we ate?"

"I ate you with my eyes, and I honestly can't remember what you ate. You did make a point of moaning around every morsel. And then had the audacity to ask me, _are you alright dear boy, you're so pale._ "

Aziraphale giggled. "Apparently I knew what I was doing."

"You did. Loved you all the more for it."

"Why… why did I refuse to date you?"

"Oh… I don't know, angel. I have my theories, but they might be a bit… I might be projecting."

"Tell me."

"You know, I never refused you a thing. Ok. So… I think when we met, the attraction was overwhelming. It was so, so much. That was how I felt and… you argued with me so much that… you protested too much, ok? So my conclusion is that you were a bit scared of being that attracted to lanky old me.

"And it's true, we don't have much in common, in fact we're as opposite as it gets. I'm working class, dyslexic, university drop out, design incredibly addictive apps, and my idea of light reading is books about game theory. Or astronomy, but make it really scientific, with formulas and suchlike. I'm ten years younger than you. I think that chewing is a waste of time. I once ate an entire hot dog and you almost cried. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that I wanted a hot dog.

"You, on the other hand, are an old Oxonian. You come from old money. You can trace your ancestors as far as the Tudors, which perhaps has more to do with the OCD that runs in your family and which you defy most admirably. You always make such a mess, angel. And I love it. But you still want your tea the exact temperature, which is 82°C. I have a fucking thermometer just for your tea. I must say I've been smelling it a lot recently. 

"When we fight, you tell me that we have nothing whatsoever in common and you don't even like me. Never believed you, though. Your eyes twinkle when you say it. Apparently I have a defiance kink. You can be all over me and say that I'm insufferable but you'll be kissing me while you say so. And before that, you'd look as if you wanted to be kissing me. Got me so confused in the beginning.

"I'd give you space and I'd mope, and then you'd call me and say, _whyever did you stop coming, dear boy_. 

"I love knowing you like that. I'm fucking honoured that you, the impeccable, terribly polite you, get so… unhinged with me."

Crowley sniffles and blows his nose wildly. His breath is ragged. 

"Darling… Oh, my darling…"

"None of that, angel. We cry one at a time."

"What… turned the tides?"

"Walked you home one evening after a disastrous rendition of Hamlet. You were fuming, and I find you hot in general, but… you were literally fuming. 

"We walked by a couple making out. It was Gabriel and Bea. 

"I thought you'd be angry or surprised or… but you kissed me on the cheek by your door and said that if your brother had gone crazy, you were allowed to let yourself go too. We got married within a year after that. Bea and Gabriel followed the suit. It was quicker for them. See, they couldn't stand each other, then fell into bed together and got married soon afterwards. Peculiar people, both of them."

"Why did I sell my bookshop?"

"Oh. I see… Well, you're a very stubborn man, my angel. You made up your mind, you said you wanted to start anew, with me, in our shared home. I sold my flat too. We didn't need that much for what we ended up buying but… I got it. I wanted to start anew with you as well. Wanted to have a home with you."

"What did we do there? In the country."

"Each other, mostly. But seriously, at first we just wandered around the place having a lot of sex. You're breathtaking, by the way. And very smug about it. You'd take an odd evaluation job, I'd design my terrible apps and help other people do the same. I'm considered very good. 

"You used to be terribly disapproving of what I do. You're old-fashioned like that. You're old-fashioned in general. 

"And I love it about you too. There's nothing I don't love about you… You'd drive me mad - and I'd be just as stupidly in love with you, if not more. 

"We'd go for long walks to the sea. You'd ogle me when I worked in the garden. Our garden is the best in Britain. That's your opinion. Probably because you used to think that cranberries grow on trees.

"You like how I cook and you hate cooking yourself. You iron _everything_. You're allergic to dust but you enjoy it just as well. Don't know how you do it."

Aziraphale can't breathe with all of it, with the way the void in his mind is both getting bigger and fills up with the memories Crowley is giving him.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, angel? You must be tired. I've worn you down…"

"Don't you dare apologise."

"Oh. Alright. Whatever you say, angel."

"Take me out, darling. Please."

"You're sure?"

"Very much so. What would you say to the British Museum?"

"I'd say I'm not surprised. I'll pick you up in ten?"

"Yes, please, darling."

***

"We don't have a car?" Aziraphale asks when he realises that Crowley has run all the way to Gabriel's flat. 

"We did. A vintage Bentley. I had it all customized and safe… you hate my driving anyway." Crowley offers Aziraphale his arm and Aziraphale leans on him. It's strangely natural, a muscle memory. 

"Is that why I decided to get a driving license?" They walk slowly, Crowley is looking both at their feet and at Aziraphale, so he jerks his head quite a lot.

"Yes. You were brilliant, of course."

"And… the car?"

"Didn't make it. I'd burn it anyway. It betrayed you."

"It was my fault, wasn't it?" Aziraphale asks. He's feeling sick just thinking about it. Maybe it's for the best he doesn't remember the accident. 

"It's a drunk driver's fault. You're a very good driver. A bit boring, for my taste, but very… law-abiding. It doesn't matter, angel. We don't need a car right now. I live within the walking distance and we can have a pleasant stroll to the museum. With as many breaks as you want, of course."

"And… then what?"

"I can get us a new car, if you want. It will be the safest bugger on the market."

"I have no doubt about it, darling."

They keep walking, making a stop every now and then. Crowley is carrying a bottle of water and a thermos of tea in his small black backpack. 

There's a black sweatshirt tied around his hips. Crowley's henley is old and soft, washed out to the point of being more gray than black. It's comforting to Aziraphale, warm and reassuring. 

They eventually make it to the museum, and when they enter, Crowley starts walking backwards, his face - a picture of mischief, despite the ever present sunglasses, or perhaps because of them. "Now is the time we've scandalised the public, angel, by discussing the problems and dilemmas of this remarkable institution."

Aziraphale opens his mouth in exaggerated disbelief. "You mean we walk around and point out what has to return where?"

"Indeed, angel!"

"I'd rather have a cake, my dear."

"Of course you would," Crowley says tenderly. "Well, come on then. One red velvet cake for my angel."

They sit in the cafeteria - Aziraphale prim and proper, Crowley sprawling all over the chair and leaning on his elbows. "Really missed watching you eat, angel."

"I'm shocked and appalled by myself. I married a creep." 

"There you go, angel. Your eyes are totally twinkling."

"You look lovely, Crowley. You are lovely."

"Just reflecting your eternal glory, angel. Ew, I'm cornier than I thought. Angel, I agree, you married a creep."

It's only now that Aziraphale notices that he doesn't wear his wedding ring. 

"Where's my ring, Crowley?"

"In my pocket. I… when you woke up and didn't recognise me, I… I didn't want you to feel distraught."

Aziraphale nods, pensive, his cake forgotten. "I can't wear it yet."

"I know," Crowley replies with an easy smile. 

"And that's it? You know?" Aziraphale wants to tear his hair out, to scream and break something. This lovely, attentive, kind man, this sharp line across everything Aziraphale currently knows about himself is maddening. Aziraphale wishes Crowley were cross with him, hated him… But he's sitting there, smiling, enjoying Aziraphale's company, his wistfulness hiding in the corners of his mouth, in slight, barely there frown. 

"What do you feel, Crowley?" 

"Me? I'm very happy to see you. I miss you. I'm… I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're giving me a chance, that you called me, that we're here. I'm confused… I was very angry when you first came to. But you're alive. You're getting better. You let me… let me be near you. You don't know me - but you trust me. It's… it's a lot, for me. Thank you, angel."

"I'd kiss you, darling, but it's our first date."

"Don't get my hopes too high, angel."

It feels as if the air were trembling with how much Aziraphale yearns to reach out, take Crowley's hand, lace their fingers together, kiss like two young lovers. It's more than overwhelming. It's the invention of gravity. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there.   
> First, I can't thank you all enough for your attention, for being here, for kudos and for comments. You make me feel special and I appreciate it a lot. A lot lot lot.   
> Second, I know that I'm dealing with a difficult topic. Today it got so difficult that I made myself cry.   
> Third, since I don't want to be sad and I don't want any of you to be sad, I'll do my best to provide a double update. I'm posting it because otherwise I'd post nothing and just be sad. Now I have an incentive to cheer you and myself up.   
> Also, for once I think we all should listen to Gabriel in terms of book recs.

"Why am I feeling so bad? It's been two days!" Aziraphale complains into his phone. He dearly misses the old ones, with a cord he could have played with. As it is, he's looking at his lap and leans his head a bit too much towards the phone which is pressed to his ear just the same, turning Crowley's voice into something akin to the sound one hears when putting a seashell to one's ear.

"Because you married a total corny creep who can't say no to you and took you out on a long walk, stressed you out and talked at you a mile a minute? Also, because you've had a serious brain injury and Dr Device will make sure I get one of those too?" If Crowleys is trying to imitate the sea, this is a very flustered and embarrassed sea, grumpy and dear. 

"Darling, you talk a mile a minute anyway. Please, don't be so nervous, or you'll end up like me, in bed and weak like a… weakling." Aziraphale smiles at his duvet. He's found a stray thread that he  _ can  _ play with.

"Angel, I'm so sorry! I had to… fuck! I'm afraid to call Gabriel! And he doesn't want to call me, I'm sure."

"Crowley, Gabriel saw his chance and took it. His bedside manner has never been particularly inspiring, but now he has a spouse two floors below and he's there all the time. I mean, apart from work… I hope."

"I'm going to tell on him. That's it, made up my mind. Dr Device will have to hit him and spare me. There. Good thinking?"

"You're so wily, darling, I'm shaking in fear and begging for mercy." Aziraphale purrs. He might have lost some of his memories but he's a good flirt, if he says so himself. He's quite capable of turning his sea a deep sunset pink.

"You're a being a bastard, you know that, right?" 

"I know that it somehow manages to both arouse and calm you." Aziraphale smiles into the middle distance. He doesn't really care that he hasn't been feeling so well after their little excursion. 

Crowley calls him first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. Today Aziraphale has considered himself ready for a midday chat. He misses Crowley without knowing him, he's eager to get to know him - again, better, differently. 

"Angel? You there? Want another nap?"

"I hate naps."

"I can hear you pouting, angel. Naps are the best. I'd nap all the time… We once had a bet. You said I couldn't possibly nap that much. So I went for a nap in the backroom of your shop and apart from one trip to the loo which you insisted I made while still being asleep, I napped for 50 hours. I was dehydrated but well rested."

"Crowley, could you come over? Just… want to hold you maybe?"

"It used to take you so long to tell me what you want. I'm so happy you're doing it now… But you rest! And don't hold me. I'll hold you. Or no one holds anyone."

"We can always gaze at each other from the opposite ends of the room. Come over, Crowley."

***

"Hey angel."

Aziraphale doesn't remember when he dozed off but he wakes up to the sight of Crowley, arms crossed and half a grin on his thin lips, standing in the doorway. So it mustn't have been that long.

"I fell asleep. Again."

"So I see. And I woke you up. Do you want something? I brought you crepes Suzette… Oh, and there's that hungry look of yours. Be right back."

Crowley jerks his head up because he's a young king who's just won a battle by being, well, Crowley. By being red-haired, sharp-angled, devoted and a jazz improvisation made human. 

He returns to Aziraphale with a tray. There are aforementioned crepes, apple sauce, butter, honey and a teapot that makes scary sounds, thus indicating its nature of being a piece of technology one wouldn't expect on a silver tray. 

"Can it make conversation?" Aziraphale asks, pointing at the teapot.

"No, it's not that magical, but it keeps your tea the right temperature. You won't need me and my thermometer anymore." Crowley grins. 

"Sit with me." Aziraphale pats the duvet. Crowley toes off his snakeskin boots and crawls over to him, making Aziraphale choke on his very first bite of food. 

"Oh… sorry. Right. No crawling when you're eating." Crowley settles next to Aziraphale. 

"It's… I'm not ready to be aroused."

"Sorry, angel, it's just the way I… come to bed. It's not meant to be anything."

"Crowley, be honest with me, are you a lizard overlord?"

"If I were, I'd have renounced my reptilian heritage and pledged myself to you." Crowley is lying on his side, facing Aziraphale, arms crossed again, eyes uncovered for once - tired and vulnerable. 

"Are you hungry?" Aziraphale offers him a forkful.

"No, it's ok, angel. I live off coffee. You hate it."

"Then open up!"

"Gotcha!" Crowley winks and obligingly eats a bite of a crepe with apple sauce. "Oh, I'm actually… quite good. Fuck, angel, I'm partaking." Crowley sits up and eats endearingly terribly - tearing a crepe into stripes and sucking them into his mouth with slurps… Aziraphale thinks he must adore it because there's nothing else he can think about it. 

"You're teasing me, right?"

"I am, angel. I learned from the best."

Once their feast is over, Aziraphale lies back down, face to face with Crowley whose left hand is between them, the ring glinting dully. 

"Who chose the rings?"

"You did." Crowley's smile is all warmth. 

Aziraphale traces the white gold band with his finger. 

"Do you ever… take it off?"

"No, I'm waiting until it becomes a part of me."

"And me?"

"You never take yours off either. You sleep with it, shower with it, make a show of it if we're out. It's bigger than mine. Wider. You want to see it?"

"No… not yet."

"Sorry, I won't push."

"Shut up."

"You shouldn't push either, angel."

Aziraphale smirks and gets cozier and more comfortable. Crowley is smiling in him and it's blinding and irresistible in equal measure. "Tell me more about us."

Crowley hums, thinking. His hand moves to Aziraphale's hair, but he quickly retreats.

"Why do you not touch me?" Aziraphale asks.

"First, because I didn't ask for your consent and didn't receive it. Second… Ok, here's a story about us. You had a very bad date one evening…"

"How did you know?"

"We were and remain friends, angel. It's not a… not a pleasant story." Crowley rubs his face. "I'm sorry, I'll tell you something else."

"No. You tell me what you meant to tell me."

"You had a bad date. Called me to come and rescue you. I did. You got into my car to hide from the man. 

"I offered you a lift. You refused. You looked so sad, so uncertain… I didn't know what to do. I wanted to help you… distract yourself.

"So I said… I suggested we'd go for a ride, you know, somewhere, anywhere. I can't describe the look you gave me then. You were… you seemed to want me to understand something without using actual words, and I was nervous and… You told me,  _ I can never go with you _ . 

You left the car and just… stood there by the window for a moment. You were so close, you looked at me with such… I don't know… with such longing. You badly wanted something I didn't… couldn't give you because I didn't know what it was. We didn't speak for a week. I never asked about that night again. Sometimes I wish it had never happened, because even when… even after we got together you'd look at me like that every now and then, and you'd always be very close and yet absolutely out of my reach. I took it… as a warning I guess. If you look like that, you don't want to be touched, to be bothered, even… sometimes you gave me that look having just kissed me or hugged me. It's a muscle memory at this point. I never touch you unless you explicitly want me to. 

"I told you, it took you much time to start telling me what you want. And quite a few arguments. 

I'm afraid this is how you're looking at me now, but you're looking like that after I didn't touch you, and I… I'm confused perhaps."

"You're afraid…" Aziraphale whispers. 

"I am. I almost lost you. I took you out and exhausted you. I'm being selfish. I really don't know what to do." 

And then Crowley is crying. It's ugly and full of hurt and shame. "Sorry, angel, I think I should go. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…

"You don't remember me, and… it's ok if you don't, it really is, but I feel as if I were manipulating you with every fucking thing that comes out of my mouth!.." He sobs loudly and presses a hand to his mouth, hastily getting off the bed. "We… we're doing it too fast, angel."

He puts his boots back on and looks at Aziraphale. "I'll call Gabriel. You shouldn't be alone."

"Crowley…" Aziraphale stops himself because he doesn't know what he wants to say or what should be said. He feels a bit offended, but he can't fully grasp what offended him. He knows he indeed wants Crowley to go.

"Will you come back, my dear?"

"I will, if you want me to."

"Of course I fucking want you to! You're my husband!" Aziraphale sits up too urgently, and his head is aching again. He's nauseous and disoriented. 

Crowley takes a step towards him, but Aziraphale raises a hand to stop him. "You should go. You're right. You should."

***

Gabriel comes soon after Crowley leaves. He walks into Aziraphale's room, sullen and scared. 

"Crowley… he called me. I'm… I hoped I could spend the night at Bea's today. Give us all some… privacy."

"I'm afraid I'm not kind enough to be upset on your accord," Aziraphale replies. 

"You shouldn't. I'm a selfish bastard and my brain is as square as my jaw."

Both brothers pretend they laugh. The sound is hoarse. 

"Look, when I read, my eyes hurt. Could you read to me?" Aziraphale asks. 

Just as he has expected, Gabriel beams. He rushes away to change from his pale purple clothes into his pale purple pyjamas and is carrying  _ Winnie-the-Pooh.  _

"Oh dear," Aziraphale says. 

"I know!" Gabriel replies giddily. 

"You're the big brother, Gabriel!"

"Yes, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I fucking love that silly bear! He reminds me of you. Crowley could be your piglet… Actually, we're all Eeyore right now."

Aziraphale weakly brays. 

"Yes, just like that. Old and… perpetually depressed."

"Gabriel, can you read me a fucking book?"

"Yes, yes, so…" 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update is here. It's short and it's not entirely devoid of angst but it's hopeful

"Will I remember?" Aziraphale asks after Dr Device finishes the check-up. 

"Can't say. You might, eventually. You might never. I'm not going to give you any false promises." She sits at her desk and looks at Aziraphale, calm and serene. 

"Crowley is afraid he's manipulating me, you know."

"I do. He called me." Quite unexpectedly, Dr Device smiles. "He's a good man. I… I quite know the feeling."

"Which one?"

"That everything I say and do can and will be used against me, and with a good reason. Our brain is a delicate mechanism, which is, unfortunately, often forgotten and even more often ignored. Crowley accepts his responsibility, although mostly for your brain. His own is a right mess, but it's understandable. He needs help just as you do, but being an annoying mother hen, he still thinks that he can't get help while you need it. The stereotype is that men aren't good at multitasking."

"Judging by the way he moves, he multitasks every time he takes a step."

"Exactly. And see how it works for him." Dr Device giggles. "He's the most ridiculous owner of a human skeleton I've come upon. I just want an x-ray of him on my wall."

"Dear doctor, he's  _ my  _ husband."

"So what? I can't have an x-ray of him? It's just an x-ray."

"It's somehow worse than a nude portrait of him."

Dr Device winces. "I'm not that into men, so, please, spare me even the mental image."

They are quiet for a few long moments. "You're doing well, Aziraphale. That long walk was a mistake, but alright, we all make some. I'd be the first to say that it's up to you to decide what you can and can't do, since it's your body and you know it better. I'd even go as far as to say that having some good time is more healing than staying in bed and studying the ceiling. But most importantly, you're giving yourself and your husband a chance. You might never recover your memories, but you seem to be determined to get your happiness back. That's admirable resilience. That's survival. Do you like horseshoe crabs?"

"Never ate them. Do they eat them?"

"A gourmand, I see. I don't know if you can eat them, but my point is that the horseshoe crabs of today are definitely not the same that hung around with trilobites, yet its form is recognisable. You might never hang out with trilobites again. But you'll remain a horseshoe crab and have mad sex by the Hudson."

"We'd be accused of public indecency."

"Well… don't take my metaphor too close to heart. I'll see you in a month. Call me if you need me before our appointment."

Aziraphale nods and walks out of the hospital. 

It's a sunny day, but there are heavy storm clouds lurking behind the tall buildings, casting a shadow over the yellow and pink of the setting sun.

He insisted on getting to his appointment on his own. He's pretty proud of himself. He's moving slowly because it gives him so much pleasure to move and breathe and feel the chilly wind on his face. 

Crowley mentioned muscle memory, and Aziraphale thinks that it is indeed something like that when he catches himself fumbling for his phone - an echo of a memory, some pattern of neurons and synapses in his head nudges at him to talk to Crowley. He might not remember anything, but he remembers that he can trust his husband. 

He misses him, again. He's attracted to him. He wants every kind of intimacy with his very own mad hatter who measures the temperature of his tea. 

"Angel?"

"Why do you always sound so uncertain when I call, my dear?" Aziraphale catches a glimpse of himself in a window - he's grinning like an absolute bastard. 

"Oh, it's ehm… it's  _ hello angel what's up where are you what's wrong _ , but in one word."

"Let's not… hide behind the banter, Crowley."

"I do love how you say my name… Sorry. It's not banter. It's flirting."

"Very bad, my dear."

"Shit! How are you, angel?"

"I'm… better. Just left Dr Device's office. Been thinking about you. I miss you."

They haven't spoken for… Aziraphale can't say. It feels like a week but it might have been two and he doesn't want to find out. 

"Miss you too, angel. What… what can I do for you?"

"You could tell me your address and let me come over. I want to see you. I think I need to see you. Medically."

"Oh… ah… should I pick you up?"

"Yes, I think you should. It's actually splendid. There's a park nearby. I'll wait there."

"Oh, right. Wait by the pond. I'll bring something for the ducks."

"Not bread, though. Bread is bad for ducks."

"Humans are bad for ducks, angel."

"Darling, so melancholic! Whatever am I to do with you?"

"Well, as per your request, stop flirting with me. I'm on my way."

***

Aziraphale has barely sat down on a bench when Crowley slides on it next to him. 

"Did you run again?"

"I… did not!" Crowley replies, catching his breath. 

"You're a very bad liar."

"But I brought lettuce!" Crowley waves a bag of lettuce in front of Aziraphale.

"A very original choice of flowers," Aziraphale praises. Now that Crowley is here, there seem to be more colours around while the noises are lower and softer. 

"I think mold and moss are spectacular. But I don't think you'd appreciate it if I brought you some."

"You should try. How are you, dear boy?"

"I'm… a mess?"

"And you want to be moss?"

"No, angel, you don't like moss."

"But it's resilient, my dear. I learned today that it's something to be… admired." Aziraphale reaches out to the bag of lettuce and tears off a piece. The ducks definitely expected something better. 

"Ducks must be gluttons," Crowley says with mock disdain.

"Sinful ducks," Aziraphale mimicks Crowley and tears off another piece. The ducks eye both men wearily.

"Should have brought them garlic bread. Or olives! Do ducks love olives? They must, otherwise why'd they be so oily?"

Aziraphale snorts at that.

"Or avocados!" 

One duck quacks at Crowley, who winces and lifts his feet off the ground, leaning towards Aziraphale. "Ok, ok, you… foul… fowl! With tuna. And I don't have it. Angel, it's behaving like a goose."

"Might be a goose spy," Aziraphale ponders. 

The air is turning more and more yellow, desperately so, as the clouds are moving closer. 

"My money is on the geese, to be honest. They are like the Huns." Crowley hisses at another gourmand duck and it hisses back.

"Shoo!" Aziraphale waves at the duck. It looks at him with respect and waddles back a bit.

"Thank you, angel. You rescued me from death by a goose spy."

"No, that one was a goose spy. This one must be counterintelligence." Aziraphale points at respective ducks. 

The silence hangs over them heavily. It's the invention of gravity all over again, but it's more menacing now or it's just the impression that the clouds make. 

"The easiest way would be to part on good terms," Aziraphale begins. Crowley tenses so much there might be actual gravitational waves coming from him. "But I told you. About the pictures and videos. I saw some of the life we had. We were happy but a few weeks ago. We've known each other for years. We figured it out once." The counterintelligence duck is listening to Aziraphale with bated breath. Aziraphale isn't looking at Crowley but he's sure that Crowley is doing the same. "I think it would be foolish to give up on it, on us. But we must take it…"

"Slowly," Crowley rasps.

"Yes. You've wasted many years on me…"

"Stop right there, you fucking magnificent bastard! I haven't  _ wasted  _ anything. I'd do it all again."

Aziraphale finally turns to look at Crowley. 

"Then let's do it all again. I'm still the same recognisable… horseshoe crab."

"They do have blue blood," Crowley replies without a pause and nods. "But you're more like a… blue whale of my heart."

"Oh dear, you should check you heart."

"You check it. It's yours," Crowley shrugs. It's his turn to gaze at the ducks. "I know how I might sound. Or at least I think I know because I always think how I might sound and…" He puffs out in exasperation. "Sorry." He rubs his face. He doesn't look much younger than Aziraphale. If anything, he looks old and lost. "I love you… No, it's not that. Fuck!" He stands up and paces in front of Aziraphale. "Sorry. I think… I'm honoured and grateful that you want to give us another chance. Let's… let's totally do it all over again. Thank you." 

"No, my dear, thank  _ you _ ."

"It's… unfair that I know you better than you know me. I… totally feel like a creep. So… maybe no more reminiscing? We'll take it one step at a time."

"Yes. Yes, I think it's wonderful!" Aziraphale smiles, and Crowley melts at his feet. 

"Can I still call you angel? I never called you anything else…" Crowley blushes.

"Oh, absolutely. I feel like I can be a totally self-indulgent creature and retain the air of smugness."

"Always." Crowley nods. 

"Do you want to… do you want to take me home?"

"I'd love to. Let me call you a cab."

"You're coming with me, though."

"If you want me to."

"Crowley, the truth is… I like you, a lot. I like you terribly, terrifyingly much."

Crowley bites his lip. 

"You can kiss me by my door. I'll start looking for a place for me to stay in the meantime. Will you go flat hunting with me?"

"Absolutely. Do you want me to bring the rest of your things from… from our house?"

"No. Let it stay there. I want it to stay there and wait for us. Or for me."

"Ok. Ok, angel." Crowley bites his lip harder. Aziraphale realises that he's trying to stop himself from crying. 

"Call me that cab, darling. We have a mutual courtship to plan. And one of us has just had a TBI."

  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Here's a big fat update. Beware: Bea is being an insensitive arse for a moment there, but they see their mistake and apologise.  
> Also, SLAM 😏

"Hello, darling."

Crowley tries to hide his cigarette behind his back and chokes on the smoke. Aziraphale smiles. "Stop being a child and share."

"Sure," Crowley hands Crowley the cigarette, coughing. "I'm a walking warning."

"I'd never call what you do with your lower limbs _walking_."

"Angel, this is literally a below the waist comment."

"How very low and sexy of me." Aziraphale exhales upwards. He's wearing his light beige coat, but it's just a shirt and an ascot underneath. He sees Crowley lift his eyebrows slightly, but he doesn't make a comment. 

"As is everything." No one has anything on Crowley's smile. It's majestic like a whale. 

"I have four or five appointments. I'd like to walk to the first two, then it's a cab for us."

Crowley nods. Aziraphale notices a pale line on his ring finger, where the ring used to be. He's not sure how he feels about it until, as they start walking, Crowley leans down to fix the bottoms of his jeans over the boots and a chain slips out between the buttons of his henley, the ring clinking against the plastic. 

Crowley catches Aziraphale looking at it and shoves it back. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'll hide it better…"

"Shut up. You're precious." Aziraphale enjoys the way Crowley blushes. To cover up for his embarrassment he demands the cigarette back with grabby fingers. 

"I wanted to ask you something," Aziraphale begins after some time of slow and easy walking. 

"Yeah?" Crowley exhales and turns his head to Aziraphale, one fluid, smooth movement which still looks strange and inhuman. Of course, Crowley is too beautiful to be human, Aziraphale thinks, smiling to himself.

"Are we really that rich?"

"We are. Addictive apps are that lucrative. Especially mine."

"We only have one account?"

"Yeah…" Crowley looks guilty. 

"I must have said something along the lines of _one body, one soul, one bank account_ ," Aziraphale muses.

Crowley laughs, his entire body trembling with it, his head tossed back. "That's exactly what you said. We… we don't have a prenup, so… ehm… How about you open your own account and I'll just transfer half of it and…"

"You trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, angel!" Crowley looks horrified. 

"Then leave it be. I just… I was impressed. I'm a gold-digger." Aziraphale wiggles, visibly delighted. Crowley swoons. 

It's pretty tiring, flat hunting. Aziraphale suspects that in the flurry of their engagement and love he must have enjoyed it more. Right now everything is too much and his head is heavy with pain. 

Crowley takes him home after the first appointment. 

"Angel… Do you want me to go to the next five and video call you from there?" Crowley is standing by the door, and Aziraphale doesn't want him to go. He wants to remember and know him, to have the luxury of holding him, of hiding his head in the crook of Crowley's neck, just like Crowley did in that video. 

They have decided to start over, true, yet starting over is exhausting, while Crowley is… a muscle memory.

"Stay with me," Aziraphale asks. "Maybe we could video call them?"

Aziraphale's head hurts too much for any screen time, so he's half buried under the duvet and the room is dark. Crowley is hissing and snarling at the people with whom Aziraphale has made appointments. 

"Darling, must you scare them?" Aziraphale asks from his comfortable nest.

"I'm not scaring them. I'm trying to be quiet."

"Your quiet is very menacing."

"Well… that can be for the better. May I use my knowledge of you?"

"If it means I get a nice flat and don't have to talk to people, then yes."

Crowley nods. The hissing and snarling stops, Crowley rocks his knees and stares at his laptop intently. 

Aziraphale finds the sight of him soothing. Safe. He's safe. 

"I'm glad I sold the shop. People are so tiring… Well, I always found them quite tiring, but apparently they also couldn't hold a candle to you… is that why we decided to go to the country? So that I could have you all to myself?"

Crowley looks at Aziraphale with strange sadness, apparently holding himself back. 

"I would have done it to have you all to myself," Aziraphale whispers, correcting himself. "I'm sorry. It's a temptation…"

"And you can never resist it." Crowley smiles, but that small frown is there again, made more final in the darkness. 

"Do you want me to resist you?"

"I want you to be comfortable enough to feel no need to resist me."

"I don't feel any need to resist you… and you're irresistible," Aziraphale mutters and falls asleep. 

Crowley takes Aziraphale to the flat he has found for him. 

It's a studio with a huge terrace. When Crowley says it, Aziraphale scrunches his nose but Crowley just smiles mischievously. 

The place is perfect. It overlooks a quiet street, it's close enough to both Gabriel's and Crowley's places, but not too close. The terrace is lovely. The flat itself is cozy and Crowley speaks a mile a minute about how it can be made more to Aziraphale's taste.

The realtor is listening to Crowley with an open mouth. 

On the one hand, Aziraphale wants to do it all himself - to decorate and make it his own, but on the other hand, he's tired, he knows Crowley can bring some furniture from their house and what's more than that, Crowley is full of energy and desire to take care of Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale doesn't find it in him to refuse. Everything is ready in a few days, during which Aziraphale doesn't see Crowley or hear from him, apart from an odd message about Aziraphale's well-being. 

Aziraphale's well-being is… quite lovely. He meets Bea and likes them, though mostly because of how smitten and silly Gabriel looks next to them, but it'll do for now. 

He walks and he drinks tea made by Crowley's sentient teapot that Aziraphale names HMS Precision and addresses accordingly.

Newt comes to visit and doesn't know what he can or cannot talk about, so he ends up talking about his job, how he teaches computer literacy without actually touching any computers which helps him develop really detailed descriptions and instructions. He's always been admirably boring and thorough, dear Newt. 

Then Aziraphale's flat is ready. 

And seeing it for the first time after all the work Crowley has put into it, Aziraphale wants to scream at his damned or blessed brain, because how could it forget someone like Crowley? How could it have reduced Crowley to a muscle memory?

There's an old and soft leather sofa with many pillows and blankets. There are bookshelves that take up one wall of the apartment, floor to ceiling. There's a kitchenette where Crowley places HMS Precision with far too little fanfare. 

There's a lovely bed behind an old folding screen. 

There's Aziraphale's phonograph. 

There's a bathroom that almost blinded Aziraphale during the initial visit but now has soft lighting. 

There are heavy curtains on the windows and equally heavy and soft carpets on the floor. 

There are terrace heaters and a few unkillable plants - according to Crowley. Aziraphale decides he can't doubt him.

Aziraphale suggests a double date - to celebrate his new flat and a boyfriend he's married to. 

Since Aziraphale doesn't cook and is therefore just comfortable having a kitchenette, most of the food for the double date is Crowley's job. 

"Everything is your job, darling," Aziraphale says, kissing Crowley quickly before they part. 

Aziraphale takes in the flat once again. It's a good place to think things over and to return to. It doesn't feel empty without Crowley, there are no ghosts of their once shared memories here, despite the sofa that Crowley brought from their house, but it's been with Aziraphale for years, he remembers it standing in the backroom of his shop. 

He opens the fridge - it's empty, just like Aziraphale wants. He can go grocery shopping now and get all the biscuits and snacks that he wants. He wants cheeses and cured meats and crackers… 

Shopping proves to be rather pleasant, all things considered. The lights are too bright of course, but there are few people. A cashier flirts with him which surprises Aziraphale and almost makes him huff indignantly - he's a married man, after all, but then he remembers that there's no ring.

The cashier is a relatively handsome young man with a pleasant smile. He runs after Aziraphale when he leaves, his tartan tote bag (Crowley of course) filled to the brim. 

"Hey… hey, fancy a drink?" The man asks. He's much younger than Aziraphale, an entirely new face, with brown eyes and plump lips. He's pretty and eager. 

Aziraphale thinks back to his dating days. He used to enjoy it, the playfulness, the flirting, definitely the sex which the cashier is all but directly offers to have. 

He thinks about Crowley. Aziraphale is sure Crowley wouldn't mind, would understand - this is the ghost of Aziraphale's memories of him. 

"Thank you, my dear. I'm afraid I'm quite taken."

"Oh shit, sorry. It's just that there's no ring. Sorry."

"I'm flattered. Have a good day." 

Aziraphale walks away with a smile. 

Back in his flat, he leaves the bag by the door, toes off his shoes and lands on the sofa with a contented sigh. It would be utterly perfect, had he a glass of wine, so with another sigh, he walks back to the bag, pulls out a bottle of wine, opens it and pours himself a glass. 

And calls Crowley once he's cozy on the sofa again.

"I begin to think I'm pestering you, darling. You hardly ever call first."

"That's… not true."

"Perhaps. Have pity on the old man. Speaking of… I just got asked out by a lovely young man."

Crowley is silent. 

"I'm not trying to be cruel, my sweet boy. I'm being naughty. I said no."

Crowley is still silent. 

"You wanted me to say yes?" Aziraphale frowns and takes a sip.

"I want you to be happy." 

"I was very happy to turn him down because I can't imagine anyone better than you, Crowley." Aziraphale turns from naughty to worried to angry. "I'm making an effort here!"

Crowley heaves out a sob. "I'm sorry, angel. I… it was a bit too soon and a bit too playful. I'll see you in the evening, ok? Bea and I are cooking."

Aziraphale hangs up. 

"The thing is," he says into the twilight of the flat. He doesn't know what the thing is. This is hard, all of it. 

And he didn't want to go out with that man from the shop. 

He wants to be alone.

***

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Bea says over their wine. They even stop stirring the sauce. 

"Keep stirring." Crowley is busy preparing carpaccio.

"You know, fuck it, Crowley. He's always been toying with you. Always!"

"He's just a tease!"

"No, he's just a sadist. And now he doesn't remember you! Wow."

"Don't you fucking dare! Do you have any idea what he's going through? Do you? Because I don't! So I trust him. I bet he doesn't have enough energy to be full of empathy right now!"

"When did he ever?"

"I'm going to cut you into carpaccio and I won't regret it. He's my husband. In sickness and in health."

Bea softens. "I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm being an arse."

"You are. He's your family too."

"He is. He drives me mad. That's what families do." They shrug. "I'm worried about you. What if he never remembers you? What if he never falls in love with you again?"

"You think I'm not afraid of it? You think I don't spend my time just… thinking about it?"

"You're not exactly famous for thinking too much."

"Why, thank you, Bea. Keep stirring." Crowley arranges the carpaccio and moves on to the next dish. 

"We could have fallen out of love just the same without all this nightmare. We could have ended up divorced. He's my friend, he's my husband. He's my family. I love him. And I don't want you to talk about him like that. And if Gabriel tries, I'm gonna cut him into carpaccio as well."

"Gabriel is lost, just like you. I'm the angry one here."

"Angry at what exactly? At the amnesia? At the brain injury?"

"I'm angry that my friend is being toyed with… But on the other hand, to each their kink."

"You know he loves… loved me."

"He loved you too fucking much. And he toyed with you. You two are very peculiar fuckers."

"Why are we friends again?"

"Not a clue. Believe me, I'm asking myself the same question." Bea walks over to Crowley and hugs him from behind. "I'm sorry."

"You said that."

"Now you're angry as well. That's why we're friends."

"I'm…"

"Lost."

"Yes. And scared."

"Then, more wine."

***

Aziraphale takes in a mountain of containers, very neatly arranged he must say. "Well, judging by the legs, it's you, Crowley."

"You should have asked before you opened the door," Crowley says from behind the mountain. 

Aziraphale picks several containers from the top to reveal Crowley's face. "Hello, my dear."

"Hey angel." 

"Would you like to come in?"

"No, I actually like standing here, holding your food."

"I'm sorry, Crowley. About… earlier."

"I do want to come in."

They carry the food to the kitchenette and put it down. Crowley sees that the table is laid on the terrace and the heaters are arranged around it. 

"You've always been freaking strong," Crowley mutters. 

"Comes from handling a lot of books."

"Look, I came earlier and Bea and Gabriel are on their way. I just wanted to say that… that it can be hard sometimes when you tease me. But I like it when you do. So…"

Crowley stops talking because Aziraphale cups his face. "Darling, when he asked me out, you know what I thought? I thought you wouldn't mind and would understand. I thought about you immediately. I doubt I stop thinking about you, but that's not the point. If I've got you, why would I need someone else? Why would put any effort into any other relationship, if I've got you? I'm sorry I teased you…"

"Don't be. And you… you've got me. Fuck, angel, you've got me."

Aziraphale pulls Crowley's sunglasses away. "There you are, Ziggy."

Crowley giggles. And sniffles.

"Kiss me."

"You're sure? I haven't kissed you for ages, I might be intense."

"Crowley, please kiss me intensely."

The next moment Aziraphale's back hits the fridge, Crowley's hand is on the back of his head and Crowley is kissing him very intensely indeed. Aziraphale can't help moaning, that's how intense it is. He's light-headed, but it's pleasant, it's walking on air and being a bit tipsy and being touched after a long time without any touch. It's a reason and rhyme. 

The bell rings, and Crowley tries to pull away only to be turned around and slammed into the fridge and kissed again. 

"They'll wait," Aziraphale groans and kisses Crowley again. 

It is definitely muscle memory. Maybe love, a long-lasting love _is_ muscle memory. Aziraphale doesn't feel like he does when he kisses someone for the first time. It feels like another kiss, one of the many that have been, one of the many yet to come. 

"And they'll wait a bit more," Aziraphale decides before diving in for another kiss. 

Gabriel is asking whether Aziraphale is alright, Bea says something to him, and they fade away. 

"I'm being impolite, I suppose." Aziraphale carefully kisses Crowley's ear. 

"Fuck it."

"They'll be worried and break the door, darling."

"Can't have that, angel. You just rented the place."

"Precisely. Kiss me one more time."

Crowley smiles - oh that young man didn't stand a chance, not even a ghost of one, Aziraphale thinks as Crowley leans in to place a feather-light kiss in the corner of Aziraphale's mouth.

"You're a decent tease yourself, darling."

Gabriel has been in the process of breaking the door apparently, because when Aziraphale opens it, he has his arms full of his brother. 

"I was against it." Bea lifts up their hands.

"Oh, you're not worried about me at all," Aziraphale pouts. 

Bea raises an eyebrow. 

"I'm so worried!" Gabriel pats Aziraphale.

"Are you checking me for injuries? They are all here," Aziraphale touches his head. "So, be careful."

"Sorry. Was worried."

Bea walks in and sees Crowley plastered to the fridge. They sharply turn around and stare at Aziraphale. "Ok, Aziraphale, I have been thinking bad thoughts about you today. I'm very sorry about it. I'll ask Gabriel to slap my ableist arse."

Gabriel blushes and decides to check the door. And close it.

"It's not a punishment if you're enjoying it," Aziraphale replies. 

"Fair enough. I'll do the dishes." Bea nods, no, bows.

The food is out on the table, the wine is poured…

"The gift!" Gabriel exclaims and runs away. 

"Oh, right, he had to put it down when he decided to show off his muscles," Bea shakes their head fondly.

Gabriel returns with a large picture. He turns it around with a flourish to reveal a magnificent rendition of a horseshoe crab. "I have no idea what it is, but Crowley said you'd love it."

Aziraphale looks at Crowley who just… moves his head in a wavy manner to indicate that it's nothing.

"Crowley, come with me for a moment. You… get started."

Aziraphale guides Crowley away from the terrace with his hand on the small of Crowley's back. 

Bea sighs and pours themself more wine. There's a loud slam somewhere in the flat. 

"What's going on?" Gabriel frowns and moves to stand up.

"Let them be. They are snogging. Idiot. And idiots. Cheers!"

***

The dinner is mostly quiet, though it's hard to say whether it's because the food is so delicious or because Bea is behaving in a way that suggests they'd rather be anywhere else while smiling knowingly and bantering with Aziraphale.

After an hour Aziraphale suddenly says that he's very tired and needs to rest. 

Bea stands up abruptly. "I'm doing the dishes! You!" They point at Gabriel. "Help."

"Angel, you alright?.." Crowley barely finishes his question when Aziraphale reaches for him to pull his chair closer and kiss him.

"Very much so." He kisses Crowley again. "Darling?"

"Ngk?"

"Alright…" Aziraphale runs his hand through Crowley's hair. "I don't want you to stay the night. But can you stay for a bit longer?"

"S… sure. Whatever you want."

"I want you to kiss me again."

So Crowley does. 

"And I can't promise I…" Aziraphale begins in between the kisses.

"Don't. Never asked you for any promises." Crowley kisses him again. He's gentle and careful, his touch is so light, so soft it makes Aziraphale want to slam him into something again, but… this is better. Slow and sweet, languid. Safe. Muscle memory. 

"You're so sexy when you say what you want," Crowley whispers into a small infinite universe between their faces. 

"Even if I ask you to leave?"

"Doesn't matter. I love knowing what you want…" He kisses Aziraphale's eyes. "Love being able to give you what you want."

"That's why you're so skinny, darling. You give too much."

"Shut up." Crowley kisses him again. 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale is standing in front of his marvelous horseshoe crab and is sipping his tea. He's not wearing socks and his shirt is barely buttoned. He distinctly remembers preferring more layers, but it doesn't feel right for now. 

"I asked him to put his head on my lap. It still hurts to read. But I can look at him and listen to him explain things to me. He's quite a book." Aziraphale smiles into his tea. 

It's winter, and the cold outside is bitter and clear. The air is practically medicinal in how unpleasant it is. Aziraphale closes his eyes and loses the count of his blessings, because his flat is warm and he doesn't need to bother with the bills that will inevitably look quite disturbing by the end of the month, after all the electricity he's been using.

Another sip, another blessing. He's always been bad at maths, so he allows himself to bask in the feeling - the warmth, the fabric of his clothes, and most tenderly, most acutely - the memory of Crowley's fingers spinning something in the air, of his hair between Aziraphale's fingers, of the curve of his head on Aziraphale's lap… Even his head is sharp. He's the embodiment of  _ agudeza  _ \- the Spanish word for both wit and sharpness. 

His phone is ringing. 

"Morning, angel. How are you?"

"Counting my blessings and losing count."

"Well, you're shit at maths."

The fact that Crowley repeats Aziraphale's own thought to him makes Aziraphale laugh. 

"That's a very healthy reaction to my being an arse," Crowley says quietly, his voice full of mirth and barely contained laughter. 

"I'm trying, dear boy." Aziraphale bites his lip and gives the horseshoe crab a conspiratorial glance. "Crowley, are you coming over today?"

"Of course I am, angel. You want me to bring something?"

"No, nothing. We still have plenty of leftovers from yesterday. And the day before…"

"Angel, throw the day before yesterday leftovers away. I'll take out the garbage on my way out."

Aziraphale frowns and sighs. He wants Crowley to stay - and he wants to be alone - and when he's alone, he wants Crowley to come back.

Crowley arrives at around eleven every day and leaves at about eleven every night. 

Every day Aziraphale wants to ask Crowley to stay. He thinks his horseshoe crab approves - not that Aziraphale is seeking the creature's approval. It just would be nice to have it. 

Crowley arrives at eleven. Despite Aziraphale's earlier protestations, Crowley brings Aziraphale a chocolate lava cake, still hot. 

"Thank you, darling, but you're distracting me."

"Why? From what? What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Crowley!" Aziraphale is getting annoyed. 

Crowley takes his sunglasses off and squints at Aziraphale. 

"You wanted to ask me something and I didn't give you a chance." Crowley nods when Aziraphale nods. "Alright." He saunters over to the sofa and pretends he knows how to sit. 

"Oh my darling, you're too sweet…" Aziraphale sits next to him, takes his hand. 

Crowley comes every day at eleven, sprawls over any given surface and works. Yesterday he worked with his head on Aziraphale's lap and his laptop balanced on his hip bone and Aziraphale distracting him. Aziraphale isn't fair to him.

"Could you… I want you to lie down and let me lie on your shoulder. You can work but maybe you could put on an audiobook? You must know where to find them, my wily darling."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere," Crowley lies with a lump in his throat. "Of course, angel."

"Then let me set up the place!" Aziraphale wiggles and moves away to do so. 

He drags a coffee table closer to the sofa, arranges the tea things on it, HMS Precision can be heard puffing like an old mariner; he shoos Crowley off the sofa to spread one blanket over it and sets another one at the ready for them to lie under. 

Crowley observes him with puzzled fondness but doesn't ask any questions, waiting for Aziraphale's invitation which comes soon enough.

They settle on and under blankets, Aziraphale's head on Crowley's shoulder and his feet tucked in between Crowley's ankles. "You're all sharp, darling. I love… it."

Crowley smirks. His laptop is balanced on his stomach, his arm is around Aziraphale's shoulders. For a while they just lie like that. Aziraphale tries watching Crowley's screen but it's uncomfortable to his eyes, and he closes them.

"Which audiobook do you want, angel?" Crowley asks quietly. 

"Neruda, read by Neruda."

Crowley nods and makes no comment. His breath hitches a bit. Maybe, Aziraphale thinks, they once had a day just like that. Maybe this too is Aziraphale's muscle memory - a blind yearning in his injured brain, trying to build back those synapses.

Crowley has his shades back on, his eyebrows are perhaps even more expressive than his eyes. His mouth twitches every now and then, and sometimes he frowns or smiles or huffs, he's exasperated and then he's smug, changeable and constant in his changeability.

Neruda's voice fills the quiet, deep and yearning, so yearning. 

There's half a memory, half a dream, a shard of a shattered magical mirror in Aziraphale's mind, and he raises himself on an elbow, looking at Crowley.

_ En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos. _

_ La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito. _

_ Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería. _

They haven't kissed that much since the double date with Bea and Gabriel. Aziraphale hasn't felt that overwhelmed and Crowley hasn't insisted. There's a peck here and there, there are longer kisses before Crowley leaves. He feels more and more fragile in Aziraphale's arms, as if slipping away, disappearing in the void Aziraphale used to want him to fill or standing there, small and not known enough to justify a void that big. 

"Angel?" Crowley calls. 

Aziraphale shakes his head. 

"Ok," Crowley agrees. 

Neruda fades, everything fades. 

"It's dark but I can see your eyes," Aziraphale whispers. 

"It's Chekhov," Crowley whispers back. "Or are you referring to my glasses?"

Aziraphale shakes his head again, bites his lip, looks down at Crowley's lips. "Sometimes I hope that if we kiss, I will remember everything."

"It's a brain injury, not a curse, angel. I prefer it that way." Crowley's fingers find their way into Aziraphale's curls. "Magic is even more nonlinear than medicine and it pretends that it's linear. Terrible manners, if you ask me." He smiles, a bit nervous, incredibly tender. "With medicine, there are no false promises, no quick, inconsiderate cures. Medicine at least has to treat you as a human, while magic tends to see us as merely vessels."

"Aren't we, though? The vessels? For genes… or genies."

"Yes, but Dr Device doesn't see to your genes. Or genies, for that matter. She sees  _ you.  _ That makes her a good doctor. Maybe she could take over the TARDIS." Crowley chuckles.

"I guess I need to catch up on that too."

"Shh, angel, don't ruin the moment. We're having a philosophical discussion instead of… Neruding through the day, you know?"

"I think we need therapy, Crowley. Couples therapy. We… We can't do it on our own. We need help."

"Alright, angel. You're right."

"Find us someone, won't you?" Aziraphale settles back on Crowley's shoulder. 

"Of course, angel." Crowley kisses the very ends of Aziraphale's curls, and Aziraphale feels it everywhere. He shuts his eyes. 

"Anything else you want, angel?"

"I'm getting a bit peckish. We have the leftovers, we'll get to it."

"Want some tea?"

"No, but I think you do need some. You can balance it on your chest, that's how flat you are, darling, you can be a very big table."

"Why thank you, angel, I'm flattered."

"I'm your sofa." Aziraphale wiggles, getting even cozier. 

"Then why are you lying on me?" Crowley manages to grump tenderly too. 

"We're moving, darling. We're in the middle of a move."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My translation of a fragment of Neruda:
> 
> On nights like this I had her in my arms  
> I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky  
> She loved me and sometimes I loved her too.
> 
> It brings tears to my eyes and reflects their dynamics. This part. Not the whole poem.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the therapist. She's Almighty.

"Might have been, you know, a break up!" Crowley waves his arms in the air, hastily and passionately explaining himself to Ela, their therapist who seems to be both judging them and empathizing with them. She's a strict woman with grey eyes and white hair. "And… and… we'd decide to try and make it work again."

"Yes, darling, but you know your mistakes and I don't know mine."

"You're an angel, you can't make mistakes!"

Ela giggles. "Sorry. Do go on. Mind the vase. Actually, I'll mind the vase." Ela stands up and moves a small table with the damned vase on it farther from Crowley. "Go wild."

"Thank you… so, all I'm saying is I've been… lost and scared. And I tried to pressure Aziraphale to remember me, but Dr Device stopped me on time, and I'm trying…"

"You are, darling. Don't hurt yourself." Aziraphale laces their fingers together. Crowley heaves a sigh. 

"I'm… we've been through a lot, ok? Maybe it's for the better that Aziraphale doesn't remember it, but I do! And I feel like it's a…" Crowley waves his arms without letting go of Aziraphale's hand. "Abuse of power. I know him better than he knows me."

"Darling, you know me better than I know myself, it's alright."

"You see!"

"I see that you two love each other and want to make it work."

Aziraphale frowns, so Ela corrects herself. "I mean that you're willing to let it grow into love. Love needs to grow. Otherwise it's not a proper tree… Where was I?"

"Love?" Aziraphale suggests.

"Yes. Love. It has to grow. To be tended to."

"I garden," Crowley nods. 

"Good. So you know what I'm talking about."

"But I don't remember our garden. Our home. And when we decided to start anew, we chose to not revisit, at least for now." Aziraphale looks slightly guilty.

"I think that avoidance never works well." Ela shrugs. "The things you don't remember, they are still there. You can get to know them and you can remember them again. Of course you should be comfortable with it, and if you don't want to go, you're right not to."

"I'm curious. And scared." Aziraphale feels Crowley's hand gently squeezing his. "Crowley has told me some of our shared history. It wasn't easy. I wasn't easy."

"Shut it, angel! You don't owe anyone any level of easiness!"

"Crude but true. Why does it bother you, that your history is not an easy one?" Ela tilts her head. 

"I was an arse…" Aziraphale says.

"I never said that." Crowley looks pained.

"But I know myself, how I was before you, Crowley. I flirted and I dated and I… When I saw Crowley for the first time, in the hospital, I immediately thought that I'd marry him if it makes him happier to call me his husband. He's… like an ocean. Overwhelming. And he's told me that it was how we used to be. Overwhelmingly attracted to each other. I tend to avoid being overwhelmed. I need to be in control or my life. Yet I can't help… can't help falling in love with you."

"Don't quote Elvis, he was a homophobe." But Crowley sniffles all the same.

"So. You're afraid that Crowley won't be able to handle it the second time around?" Ela asks.

"I'm afraid to lose him, yes. And he's afraid to lose me. And we're afraid and don't know what to do." Aziraphale sighs. Crowley kisses his hand. "You won't lose me, angel."

"I lost you already, Crowley. I don't remember you."

"Aziraphale, just like with your house and the rest, the fact that you don't remember it, doesn't mean it's not there. Object permanence, if you wish. I don't know the physics of memory, but I think your memories are still there. They are hidden or transformed. You called love muscle memory at the start. It's all there. You don't need to recover it. Just… it's there. You two trust each other so much, you allow yourselves to be vulnerable with and for each other. That's a very solid foundation. I'm in awe of you both. None of you has given up on the other. Therein lies the rub!"

"Gloomy," Crowley whines.

"Darling, I love Hamlet!"

"Don't I know it, angel!"

"How many Hamlets have we seen together?" Aziraphale asks curiously.

"36. West End, Broadway, off Broadway…"

"Was there a musical?"

"That would have been an improvement," Crowley grunts. "But no."

"You like  _ Much Ado _ , don't you?" Aziraphale asks softly. 

"Yes," Crowley replies with equal softness. "And  _ Twelfth night _ ."

"Oh, there is a musical for that!" Ela says. "I'll see you two next week. It's a pleasure to work with you."

  
  


Stepping out of their therapist's office, Aziraphale tugs Crowley into a hug. "You seem to have needed it. I know I needed that."

He can feel Crowley's sharp chin digging into his shoulder. "Giraffe comfort," Crowley says with a giggle. 

Aziraphale rests his chin on Crowley's shoulder instead of the answer. He needs to stand on his tiptoes to achieve Crowley's shoulder, but it's a small price for it. 

They are warm and tired. "Why don't we go back to yours, darling? I'm sure you have some homemade food that you've been stress cooking."

"Are you sure you don't remember me?"

"Unfortunately. Not beyond the last couple of months." 

They bite their lips and chide each other for it and laugh at each other. 

Crowley has been stress cooking a lot. Aziraphale is positively feasting on the contents of Crowley's fridge. 

"I wonder…" 

"Don't talk when you chew," Crowley replies. He's sitting next to Aziraphale and mostly watches him eat. 

"I still wonder… your place is almost empty. So… modern and slick. Yet… the place, my place is entirely, oppositely different."

"I don't care about… things. But you do. So…" Crowley takes a sip of wine from the bottle. "Is therapy supposed to be so exhausting?"

"I guess so." Aziraphale shrugs and takes the bottle from Crowley to take a sip too. "Crowley…"

"Yes, Aziraphale?"

"I want to see our home. I… I really do."

"Oh… if you want. Of course. Let me do research and buy us the safest car."

Aziraphale laughs and kisses Crowley's temple. "Thank you, darling. I had another question." Aziraphale ruffles Crowley's hair. He looks so gentle and fragile, he is a memory even when he's there. It's a scary thought, but it's a scary question too… "Why was I driving?"

Crowley swallows and looks at his feet. "You… you wanted cranberries. I was working. I said I'd take you, no problem, but you said you wanted to go by yourself, that I should just stay and finish what I was doing…" 

Crowley rubs his eyes. 

"Oh darling… My sweet darling, I'm sorry." Aziraphale puts a hand on Crowley's back. 

"You? Whatever for?" 

"I bet… you blame yourself. You shouldn't."

Crowley twists sharply and holds Aziraphale, climbs on his lap, his arms and legs all around Aziraphale's body, his hand cupping Aziraphale's face. 

"It's alright, baby," Aziraphale whispers. "It's alright. It's alright. I'm here. We'll work it out. I'm here…"

They stay like that for a while, holding onto each other and breathing each other in. The food goes cold, the wine is forgotten, it's getting dark and late. 

Crowley walks Aziraphale home afterwards and they part with a short kiss. 

***

It's a rather long drive. Crowley asks for Aziraphale's hand on his knee after a quarter of an hour into it. Aziraphale does put his hand on Crowley's knee. It's bony and sharp, like the rest of him. 

Crowley's hands on the wheel are turning white from how hard he's gripping it.

"Darling, you shouldn't have…"

"No, let me. Please, let me. I want to take you home, angel, please let me."

Aziraphale runs his thumb in circles and whispers sweet and comforting nothings to Crowley all through the way. There's nothing else to do, after all, and while the scenery is somewhat lovely, it pales in comparison to Crowley's endlessly handsome and concentrated face. Aziraphale tells him so in half formed sentences that mostly consist of  _ my dear boy  _ and  _ you're so good _ . 

The day is mostly gloomy, but their house looks anything but. It's small, it's cozy. 

It's also freezing inside. 

Aziraphale walks around, admiring the knick-knacks he remembers and those that must be newer. There are plenty of those, souvenirs and little things that carry big memories - it all comes down to memories. 

"It seems I've always favoured storing my memories outside," Aziraphale remarks turning an old silver snuff box in his hands. "What did I want to remember here?" He holds it out for Crowley to take a look at.

"It's… it's from a thrift store in a nearby town. We drove there when we just moved… You know. Reconnaissance."

"Reconnaissance?" Aziraphale chuckles. 

It's dusty but it doesn't feel abandoned. Their bedroom is the biggest room in the house, bar the kitchen. The decor is flowery and so old-fashioned they must appear like an elderly couple of lady hobbits. There are doilies and embroidered cushions and teatowels. 

"It's very me," Aziraphale concludes. "It's perfectly me. Where are  _ you _ here, my dear?"

Crowley shrugs and jerks his head towards the kitchen window. It's still light outside yet when Aziraphale moves the curtains, he sees an incredible garden that looks absolutely, utterly, hopelessly forgotten. Everything is growing every each way, sprawling and drying and dying. There are still traces of some diligent work, and it makes the sight all the sadder. 

"Crowley… you… you don't come here? For your garden?" Aziraphale looks at Crowley with tears in his eyes. "All your work… it seems to have been magnificent."

"It's a long drive, angel. I… You don't remember it, and if you don't… then I don't want to, either." Crowley moves away. "I don't mean to… I'm not blaming you, fuck, I'm not." He turns around and returns to Aziraphale, grasping his shoulders and searching for something in Aziraphale's eyes. "Please, understand me… Angel, I don't know, can't know what you're going through, and my desire to forget… it comes from… from a place of… No, nevermind. It doesn't matter. You want me to tend to it, I will, I…" 

Aziraphale interrupts him with a kiss. 

"Sweetheart… My beautiful, loving sweetheart. I want you so much." Aziraphale kisses him again, presses them closer together, tastes Crowley's whimpers and moans, drinks in each sound. "I want you. We don't need to do anything about it now, but just know… I want you." He moves back a bit to look Crowley in the eyes. His sunglasses are askew. Aziraphale laughs and pulls them off, puts them in his own pocket. "Put your hands where I want you."

"I… I can't, angel. Not like this, not now. Sor…"

"Shush. Nothing to apologise for. I'm here. You're here." Aziraphale embraces him again. "I'm so happy to have you. Maybe… how about we come here for a weekend? Or just for a few days, seeing as I don't work and you work from home anyway? We could… dust the place? Clean it? Tend to the garden, together. It's winter, so… let's come here later, in early spring. Get it ready for the season. Does it… does it sound… are you amenable?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm… I'm totally amenable."

"Let's get back to London, darling. Could you stay at my place tonight?"

"I'd love that. Thank you, angel."

Aziraphale nods and kisses Crowley again. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful. It's smut here. Rating is changed. Also, don't worry about the carpet.

"Last week you told me you wanted to go and see your house," Ela begins, inspecting her patients. Her eyes are so attentive, Aziraphale wants to squirm in his seat sometimes while Crowley is constantly squirming in his. 

"Yes, and we did." Aziraphale grabs Crowley's hand to slow the squirming down, a bit. "As you remember our previous session was all about the safest car on the market." He smiles at Crowley, who stops squirming entirely and smiles brightly. 

Ela laughs. "Indeed. It was very informative." She looks at Crowley with mirth. Aziraphale quite understands her. "How was your trip?"

Crowley looks aside. Aziraphale realises his… his Crowley isn't about to speak, despite the fact that the infamous vase has been moved far from his wing… arm span permanently.

Aziraphale sighs. "It was interesting. Our house is very… me. Me at my utmost… me-ness. It's everything I like, everything I ever wanted from a house…"

"I told you, I left the decor to you," Crowley interrupts. He squirms again. 

"Don't interrupt me, sweetheart," Aziraphale says, firmly but fondly. "I asked Crowley where he was in all of it… It's our house after all. Turned out that his part of the house is our garden. Which looked… sad. Abandoned." 

"Because I didn't want to go there!" Crowley snaps. "Because I see no point in reminding myself what I have lost! For fuck's sake!" Crowley's knees bounce. 

"Pardon a cliche question, but how did it make you feel, Aziraphale?" Ela asks softly. 

"Sad." Aziraphale shrugs. "And afterwards… we kissed. I wanted him so much…"

"I'm not ready," Crowley says aside. 

"I'm not blaming you for it, darling. I… it broke my heart to see a part of you so… forlorn. Unloved."

"It's a garden, angel. Not a part of me. Also, you could have looked at the plumbing."

"I'm sure it's in tip top condition…"

"Angel, what are you doing? This isn't about me or the fucking garden! We decided that we'd go back in spring and sort it all out… Please," Crowley's voice breaks and he determinedly avoids looking at Aziraphale or at Ela. "Please, I…"

"You'd rather forget it?" Ela remarks, softly. 

"Yes. I shouldn't say it…"

"Darling, I won't break, we're here for you as well."

Crowley leans forward and covers his face. His shoulders shake but he's quiet otherwise. 

Ela pushes a box of Kleenex forward. Crowley grabs a handful of tissues and pushes them to his face, keeping it hidden. His shoulders bounce instead of shaking, before long all of him is bouncing.

"Darling… darling, why are you so afraid of letting me see you?"

"That was my next question, but Crowley should be capable of talking first… Did I say that outloud? I'm sorry." Ela rubs her nose, embarrassed.

"This is not what any of us needs right now.  _ You  _ don't need me like that. I haven't been in an accident, it's not about me."

"Crowley, it seems like you think that a whole lot of things is not about you," Ela says. 

"Listen," Crowley uncovers his face, wet and blotchy, "I… I get off the fact that I can make the man I love happy, ok? I don't think that right now it would be wise to tell him, hey angel, I'm so fucking lost - and I still do it, because I'm a selfish fucker! It doesn't matter what I want now. I had what I want and I don't have it anymore! We're trying to build it back, but… He rejected me so much! So many times. And I listened, I stepped back, I… Then he'd call me and I couldn't see any reason not to run to him. Before you both argue, no, it wasn't unhealthy. There weren't any promises, he never tricked me. He's a tease, alright, but I'm able to tell him when I don't want something! Why are we talking about me again?"

"It's couples therapy, Crowley," Ela reminds him. "You two are trying to figure things out. It takes two."

Aziraphale leans to Crowley and kisses his cheek. "I'm lucky to have you, darling. I am, believe me, please! I committed to this work, to our marriage, I won't leave you because it's difficult."

Crowley starts bouncing again. Aziraphale gives Ela a look that bears no argument, to which Ela nods and makes an inviting gesture. Aziraphale pulls Crowley off his chair and onto his lap. 

"This is ridiculous," Crowley says into Aziraphale's neck. 

"You could talk. Anyway. That night Crowley stayed with me, we slept together - as in fell into blissful unconsciousness while holding hands. It was lovely. I don't remember sleeping with anyone. I never spent the night with my lovers, unless there was more sex involved. I love how it felt with Crowley. I really did. I think I'm quite over the fact that I don't remember a significant part of my life. This, us, it's far more interesting and important than anything else right now. I still can't read without getting a headache, but I think I can live with it and wait for it to either get better or to never return. I woke up to confusion and paranoia, but it turned out I had so much in store for me. A whole life that's… that's there for me. Waiting. Patient. Incredibly attractive."

"Shut up!" Crowley says. 

"I won't. You're an adventure, Crowley. The one I'm very willing to partake in."

"Crowley, what would you say if Aziraphale… spoiled you? If for once, he took the care of you?" Ela asks.

"That's not what he needs…"

"Darling, I'll be the judge of that. I think I'd love to spoil you."

"Now, the most interesting question." Ela rubs her hands in delight. "Judging from the time you've spent together… How would you spoil Crowley?"

"He spoils me alright. He holds me… I'm fucking having a meltdown on his lap! If this is not spoiling, I don't know what is!"

"No, Crowley, this is basic decency." Aziraphale shakes his head as an excuse to nuzzle Crowley's face. 

"It's because you're an angel."

"I'm pretty horny for an angel, you know. And gluttonous. And love souvenirs. You, Mr I-never-chew-and-my-life-fits-into-one-bag, are much more of an angel…"

"Shut up! You're my angel. I want my angel just like that."

"From what you've told me, I see that it took Aziraphale some time to be vulnerable with you, Crowley. To let go of his impulse to control everything. I think it's because of you Aziraphale is taking everything so well. It's time you've let Aziraphale do the same for you. Let him… see you like that, snot and all."

Crowley sighs heavily. "Ok. Ok, I will." 

"So good, my darling, so wonderful!" Aziraphale wiggles giddily. 

"What should I do, though?" Crowley finally lifts his head. 

"Let me freak out about our garden. Let yourself complain. Let's have a proper fight."

Crowley's eyebrows rise in horror. 

"You'll ask for the things you want, too. You are so proud of me when I say what I want. I'd be proud of you too. Make me proud, darling." Aziraphale's eyes shine, he adjusts Crowley's hair and gazes at him.

"Lovely," Ela concludes. "I'll see you both next week."

***

"It's my turn to court you now," Aziraphale said when they left Ela's office, so now they are in Aziraphale's flat and Aziraphale feeds Crowley dumplings. 

"I'm not chewing!"

"Yes, you are… Actually, fine. It's a part of your charm, I suppose. Don't chew if you don't feel like it."

Crowley stubbornly chews. 

"There you are. Such a lovely piece of work."

"I don't believe a thing she's saying," Crowley argues. 

"Do you believe a thing I'm saying?" Aziraphale feeds him another dumpling. 

"I believe everything you say, angel," Crowley answers tenderly. "Always have."

"Crowley, it's not a courting! It's a competition!"

"What?"

"A competition! We're trying to be the sweetest one here, and I'm losing all the time."

"You want me to be an arse?"

"No. I'm teasing, darling! Oh, what am I to do with you?"

Crowley pauses. Aziraphale frowns. 

"Crowley?"

"You really want me to tell you what you are to do with me?" Crowley rasps. 

"I can always say no."

"True."

"So. What am I to do with you?"

"Love me." Crowley says it quietly, barely a breath masquerading as words. 

Dumplings fly to the floor, soiling a very nice carpet, not that anyone cares at the moment, and Aziraphale is straddling Crowley kissing the life out of him. 

Crowley's shirt follows the dumplings, Aziraphale starts unbuttoning his own shirt, nipping at Crowley's neck, biting him just below his ear…

"Take it off. Hate buttons!" Crowley doesn't do anything about the buttons, though, opting instead to run his hands up and down Aziraphale's back, leaning forward to kiss Aziraphale's revealed collarbones.

"Darling… Fuck, Crowley…" Aziraphale forgets about his own mouth and Crowley's neck, holds Crowley's head close, letting him kiss and bite at his nipples and rub his face against Aziraphale's chesthair. 

"I missed you. I missed you so damn fucking much…"

They almost fall off the sofa to join their shirts and dumplings, and there's quite a bit of silly crawling and fumbling before they make it to a dry part of the carpet. 

"You'll burn your knees," Aziraphale says from underneath Crowley.

"And you'll burn your back. Also, no lube here. Fuck it…" 

Crowley kisses down Aziraphale's chest and belly. 

"Darling, you're quite a biter… If you stop, I'll bite your head off. Or your cock."

Crowley sneers and makes a surprisingly quick work of Aziraphale's pants and underwear. 

"I'd be more careful," Crowley almost kisses, "with the word choice…" 

"Sweetheart!" Aziraphale yells when Crowley swallows his cock whole with a groan. "I… I'll never insist on you chewing, Crowley… A-ah-ah!"

Crowley groans more. His tongue is all over the place, his teeth are as teasing as Aziraphale's remarks but sweeter and oh, driving Aziraphale crazy. 

"Turn over," Crowley suddenly asks. Aziraphale whines at the loss of his mouth and he's not sure he can move, and there are bright spots in his eyes which may or may not be a bad sign, but damn it, damn it, damn it… Crowley helps him to turn over - and licks from under Aziraphale's balls up to his hole, proudly on display just like the rest of Aziraphale's arse. 

Aziraphale's knees do begin to burn, and what's worse, he's still wearing socks. It's killing the entire mood.

"Crowley… Crowley…" he means to say stop. "Don't stop, oh, please, don't stop."

Crowley isn't showing any intention of stopping or slowing down. His hands are firm and gentle on Aziraphale's hips, his mouth is wet and careful. 

"I missed you, I missed touching you and loving you… I missed you."

That reminds Aziraphale…

"Crowley… darling, stop."

Crowley stops immediately and sits back on his haunches. Aziraphale turns on his back again. He's breathing hard and he's stupidly elated. 

"Crowley, you asked me to love you. So… And absolutely no socks!" Aziraphale sits up, ignoring the bright spots and light vertigo. Crowleys peels off his socks. He shifts a little - and his sunglasses are no more. 

"Lovely," Aziraphale deadpans. "Help me up, darling, and let's… let's take it to bed or I'll faint."

"What? No? What happened…"

"Stop fretting…" Aziraphale reaches Crowley's belt and unbuckles it. He thinks he can be a tease in bed too. He can't remember being that playful, but Crowley must be inspiring that way, so Aziraphale grasps Crowley's underwear between his teeth and pulls it down together with those terrible, extremely tight pants. However sexy it might seem - and according to Crowley's nonsensical whispers, it's  _ so  _ sexy - Aziraphale has to drag the rest of the clothes with his hands, but he does it quickly, so quickly in fact that Crowley falls next to him. 

"Bed. Now. Before either of us has glass or a dumpling up our sensitive parts."

"Yes… yes, angel…" 

They stumble towards the bed, push down the folding screen which falls with so much noise there might be a few police cars on their way; then Aziraphale steps on the damn thing and it of course breaks under his weight…

Oh, it was supposed to be much, much hotter than Crowley, naked and not even remotely hard, fussing over Aziraphale's foot. 

"Well… that was a start." Crowley drops on the bed and he and Aziraphale are staring at the ceiling for a few moments. It's a pretty ceiling, all things considered. Aziraphale's foot is alright and taken care of. 

They look at each other. 

And burst out laughing. 

"Oh… Crowley, you're absolutely perfect!" Aziraphale holds him and rocks them together. "I wouldn't bear being any less ridiculous with you than I am… My sweet, beautiful Crowley… Where were we?" Rolling them over, Aziraphale straddles Crowley again. "You were so very exquisite with your mouth, darling," Aziraphale purrs.

"All… all yours."

"I hope so. But then again… you wanted me to love you…"

"Fuck my mouth. I'm being very specific about how I want you to love me. Fuck my mouth while towering over me in all your creamy glory."

"Creamy… Well, perhaps you're right." Aziraphale shifts up Crowley's body. Bless the heating, otherwise they'd be shivering… Oh, Aziraphale is shivering alright, it's a mighty, mighty shiver when Crowley's lips touch the tip of his cock, Crowley's hands caressing his inner thighs. His touch is smooth, soft… 

Aziraphale roars. 

Crowley hums in approval. 

"You want me to come into your mouth, lovely?"

Crowley nods. His eyes fly open, his strange mismatched eyes glow in the dim light. Aziraphale couldn't stop looking at him even if he had such a stupid wish. 

"Had me mesmerized, sweetheart." Aziraphale grabs the headboard harder. "Had me enchanted and… Yes, oh, you… Ah… Am I always speechless when I'm with you… No, don't answer, don't stop, please, don't stop."

The shiver gives place to warmth, flowing, filling Aziraphale's body, crawling under his skin, from the point where Crowley sucks him off (Mathematically, a point is without size, Aziraphale thinks through the fog… no, it's too warm for fog, it's more like steam…) and up, up, up, to Aziraphale's eyes, burning with tears and molten love. 

Aziraphale comes down Crowley's throat and sags, before he can think that he's about to suffocate Crowley… 

Crowley is already behind his back, sloppy kisses on Aziraphale's shoulders, firm hands around Aziraphale's middle. 

"Crowley… darling… tell me, do I have lube?"

"I… I brought you some, I think."

"Naughty," Aziraphale huffs out with a laugh. He's still holding on to the headboard for dear life. "My… my naughty, naughty baby…"

"I'm so weak for you calling me  _ baby _ . Let's not talk about it with Ela."

"Wouldn't think of it…" 

Crowley helps Aziraphale lie down and lies over him. "I wanted you to have everything. It's your favourite for handjobs."

"Right… anything will do now, just… want you inside me."

"Whatever you wish, my angel."

"Yes, do it, baby." 

Crowley vengefully bites Aziraphale's shoulder. 

He moves away for a moment to grab the lube. 

"So… what do I like for anal these days?" Aziraphale asks. 

"Natural oils. You love being eaten out and get obsessed over my calories… Nothing changed."

"Am I just a salad to you?" Aziraphale tries to sound scandalised, but he's blissed out too much. "Aaaa-h. A-ah-ah." Crowley's tongue is back between his arsecheeks, soon joined by his fingers. 

"No, you're my Greek god after a bath… or something. Not my area of expertise…" His fingers prod and push and press inside. He's teasing and licking and cooing. 

"Darling… don't coo over my arse."

"Why? It's pretty. And delicious."

"P-pervert. Oh-oh-oh-oh… do it again, fuck, yes, Crowley!"

He's hard again, rutting into the soft bedding. 

"Angel… I don't have condoms."

Aziraphale turns his head back to look at Crowley. "Crowley. Please. You don't wear condoms for your salad."

"Fair enough." Crowley slicks himself and pushes inside - just a tip.

"Nothing enough…" Aziraphale pushes himself up and holds on to the headboard again. "I want you, darling…" 

Crowley pushes inside all the way and gasps. "I…"

"Missed you too," Aziraphale whispers into his lips. Crowley kisses him as he starts moving, he holds Aziraphale with both arms - one around his shoulders, the other around his waist. 

"I will eat you out afterwards, angel. See, I'm a glutton too."

"Is this a threat?"

"I don't know. You don't have to…"

"I won't say no to you eating me out. Unless I'm blacked out… Crowley…"

"Yes, angel?"

Aziraphale moves his head so that he can speak right into Crowley's ear. "I will go  _ anywhere _ with you."

Crowley groans loudly, his hips move without any rhythm. "I'm sorry, sorry… angel, I'm sorry…"

Aziraphale extricates himself from Crowley's arms and pushes them both to lie back. 

"You… didn't come…" 

"I love you," Aziraphale interrupts. "I love you. Hold me, will you?"

"But… eat you out…"

"Next time. I know you weren't bragging. Hold me."

Crowley does. Aziraphale hides his face on Crowley's shoulder. 

"You know what I want?"

"What do you want, angel?" Crowley absent-mindedly plays with Aziraphale's matted and sweaty hair. 

"If I'm a salad… I want you to be a madeleine cookie."

"Well… I can still drive you to our Combray. Sans annoying relatives."

"Fuck Combray."

"You're scaring me, angel. You curse Proust."

"Watch me. Fuck Proust."

"I won't fuck Proust. I'm tired. And I love you." He kisses Aziraphale's forehead and dozes off. 

"Oh, am I to wake up to your soft snores again, darling? What a way to wake up…" He dozes off too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and fluffy update. We're nearing the end. I can't thank you all enough for being here, for writing such wonderful comments, for supporting me. I wouldn't have done it without you all. I can't keep doing it without you. So, live long and prosper.

Aziraphale is sipping his tea, watching over the mess that is one of his favourite carpets with adoration and devotion. There are shards of Crowley's glasses and stone cold and equally dry dumplings and a vague scent of broth gone bad in the air. Oh, and behind Aziraphale, the broken folding screen is folded and still very much broken, to Aziraphale's utter delight. 

Aziraphale has had enough time to wake up, take his fill of watching Crowley sleeping, snoring (softly, like a cat) and mumbling something about cranberries and  _ don't go there angel  _ and  _ right there scratch it _ ; take a shower, make himself a cuppa and admire the aforementioned mess.

He sighs happily. He's so, so, so very happy. 

He can hear Crowley wake up with a start and a gasp. "Good morning, darling," Aziraphale greets. He turns around to watch Crowley roll off the bed and stumble over to Aziraphale, wrapping himself in a duvet. He stops next to Aziraphale and looks at him in daze. 

"Good morning, angel. How are you?"

"Blissfully sore," Aziraphale replies, leaning up for a kiss, which he is immediately given. 

"I can totally kiss it better," Crowley tempts.

"I've had a shower, sweetheart," Aziraphale mumbles into Crowley's neck. He's sleepily warm, and Aziraphale doesn't need to ask him to share some of that warmth because Crowley opens the duvet and wraps it and himself around Aziraphale, pressing all his angles against Aziraphale's back. 

"There you are, my love… I meant it, you know?"

"I certainly hoped so," Crowley whispers and kisses Aziraphale's ear. "What are we going to do about the carpet?"

"Gather all the dumplings. Vacuum clean it… or just sweep it. Then we'll have to take it to the dry cleaning, I assume. I'd love to leave it as it is and frame it, but the smell won't get any better, I'm afraid."

"Ok, I'm on it," Crowley says and doesn't move.

"No rush, darling. Could you walk us back to bed?"

"Need bathroom," Crowley replies. And doesn't move. 

"Fine. How about this…" Aziraphale crouches, making a point of dragging his arse against Crowley's crotch, and leaves his cup on the floor. Then he makes the same teasing way back upwards and turns around in Crowley's arms. "You go to the bathroom and come back to bed. Do you have to work today?"

"At this point I never have to work, but… I rather like it," Crowley admits. 

"Fine. Do you have everything with you? Your laptop and head?"

"Apparently. I'm looking at you after all." 

"Oh sweetheart, you are." Aziraphale cups Crowley's face to look at him too. Has he stopped at some point? 

"What… what is your plan, angel?"

"Go to the bathroom, I'll tell you afterwards."

Crowley nods and saunters to the bathroom where he, judging by the sounds, tries to balance the duvet and his morning routine. 

Aziraphale hums and gets to work. He gets rid of the dumplings and sweeps the carpet. 

He goes back to bed to smell Crowley on his pillow. The real thing comes back soon enough. 

"You took care of the carpet. You shouldn't have…"

"Shush. Let me do something for you, Crowley."

"Ok. I'm all ears." Crowley arranges the duvet around them again and snuggles closer to Aziraphale. 

"So. First of all, I want to go down on you."

"No complaints," Crowley whispers. His lips are very dry, Aziraphale has to take care of it, so he kisses Crowley very silly and very slowly. 

But halfway down Crowley's body, Aziraphale is stopped. "Angel… angel, actually… I'd really… I like your hands. Can I… have your hands instead?" 

"Darling, of course…"

"I just… just want you to look at me. Want you to look at me. Please."

"Oh my love… Of course. You too are incredibly sexy when you ask for the things you want."

Aziraphale didn't see much of Crowley's face the previous night, but now when he watches Crowley as he's caressing him, it's a study in lost tenderness, in sweet confusion, in absolute and utter trust. Crowley seems to be making a point of breathing the same air as Aziraphale, their mouths so close, Crowley's lips bitten, stray tears rolling down his temples. 

"I love you," Crowley says. He's extremely serious, the kind of serenity that comes with openness and trust. 

Aziraphale licks away his tears and kisses Crowley's nose and makes him come, gasping for Crowley's pleasure as if it were his own. "I love you too,  _ baby _ …"

Crowley groans and hides his face in Aziraphale's shoulder. 

"Baby, baby, baby, baby."

"Bastard."

"Baby."

Aziraphale cleans himself and Crowley with his bathrobe. "I want to get dressed and take care of the carpet and our breakfast. I'd like to fetch you some fresh clothes from your place, if you'll let me. Then I'll come back to you and… you'll put on another audiobook, we'll… just stay together."

"Angel… you…"

"Other than your invincible desire to do everything for us, do you have any objections?"

"I'm… I'm afraid."

"I won't drive. Is it what you're afraid of? Our car is back at your place anyway. And I won't take it."

"Our car…" Crowley repeats in awe. "You… you'll have a car with me?"

"We have a joint bank account, love. So, any objections?"

"No. I trust you to come back to me."

"I'll be very careful. I promise." Aziraphale kisses him. "You… do you. I'll take care of things."

He leaves Crowley with the laptop and an additional blanket. Crowley doesn't have any plans to get dressed, apparently, which… makes sense. Aziraphale approves of it. 

He finds a dry cleaning service that will come over to pick up the carpet. Aziraphale asks them to call him in advance. His darling needs to be able to work and worry about Aziraphale in comfort.

Next important step is the folding screen. That might prove to be more difficult to take care of, but for now Aziraphale stores it safely on the terrace, where, Aziraphale suspects and accepts, it will end its days in sadness, cold and ruin. That's what it deserves for ruining a perfectly hot stumbling over to bed in Crowley's arms. "Evil dead tree," Aziraphale admonishes. 

"Angel, are you alright?" Crowley asks from the bed. 

"I'm absolutely fine, darling, I'm talking to a dead tree."

"Oh… fine." 

Aziraphale can't breathe with how much he loves Crowley. It's too much for a few months. It's something lifelong and… and… and breathtaking and perfect. 

"Does it answer?" Crowley enquires.

"I'm not listening."

"Wise. If it does, I can kill it again."

"My wicked darling, so chivalrous."

Aziraphale gives Crowley a kiss, promises him a bucket of coffee and leaves with Crowley's keys. 

He starts with a visit to Crowley's flat where he packs… he doesn't pack a thing. He has to go and buy a bag, because really!

With a new and expensive bag in hand, Aziraphale returns to Crowley's place to pack some clothes for Crowley, by which point Aziraphale starts to worry that Crowley might die of hunger back in Aziraphale's flat, so Aziraphale hurries up and finally returns to Crowley just in time to get rid of the carpet. 

Crowley downs his scalding coffee and Aziraphale enjoys his croissants. Crowley discovers some apples in Aziraphale's fridge. 

It's a short day, as befits a winter day, and it gets dark before it gets to the point of light gray. Aziraphale couldn't care less. 

They eat in bed and drink in bed, and Crowley is warm and thoroughly safe and content. There's no frown between those eyebrows. 

Also, Aziraphale is very proud of having brought Crowley two pairs of sunglasses. Crowley doesn't seem impressed because  _ I knew you're the best. _

Aziraphale calls him baby for it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that's it.

"So, you two seem… giddy." Ela tilts her head and smiles. "What's up?"

"We're practically living together. Crowley trusts me enough to let me do shopping." Aziraphale sees Crowley blush and begin to seeth and fume, so he grabs Crowley's hand to kiss and squeeze it. 

"I always trusted you to do shopping," Crowley says. 

"And he's being very adorable when he's grumpy," Aziraphale informs easily. "I can't help teasing him all the time. We're happy. Are we happy?"

"Of course we're happy, angel. We're so happy it basically feels like the beginning of our marriage."

"Good," Aziraphale nods. 

Ela keeps smiling at them. 

"Will we… always need you?" Crowley asks.

"It's for you to decide. There's much work for you both."

"It's always work." Crowley shrugs. "I'm not afraid of it."

"What are you afraid of then?" Ela asks. Crowley makes a face that plainly states that he should have known better. 

"I'm afraid… I don't know how to say it. I'm afraid I'm not… working hard enough?"

"Darling…" Aziraphale wants to scoop him in his arms again, hold him close and whisper endlessly into those attentive and delicate ears that Crowley does more than anyone would have asked from him. "Darling, you've created a world for us. A life. You've done it twice and there's no one I'd trust more than you with such a task."

"You're too romantic, angel."

"And what's wrong with that? I'm romantic in my words. You're romantic in your actions."

"So are you."

"Must you always be argumentative?" Aziraphale asks fondly. "I suppose you must. I suppose I wouldn't want you any other way."

"Crowley, you've been much more talkative and open in the beginning," Ela remarks. "What makes you uncomfortable?"

"I think… I like to think that we've… we can take it from here. On our own."

"This is entirely your decision."

Crowley looks at Aziraphale hopefully. 

"Darling, I think we should keep in touch with Ela. There might be occasions when both or either of us needs help."

"And… I feel like a failure." Crowley blushes. "I couldn't solve it… we couldn't solve it."

"Crowley, this is ridiculous," Aziraphale replies. "You'd go to a doctor if something hurt, wouldn't you? This is the same."

"Yes…" Crowley rubs his face. He's exhausted. "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry."

"It's high time for your recovery too, Crowley," Ela says. 

"There's nothing to recover from…"

"You've gone through a traumatic event. Aziraphale is well on his way to full recovery. With your help and support. We spoke about it, didn't we? Do you want to recover, Crowley?"

Crowley hums and thinks. "I… it took us a long time to get together before the accident. It's… it happened so easily, so natural this time around. I keep thinking… that everything is my fault."

"Typical," Aziraphale says with fondness. He does need to scoop Crowley in his arms and never let go. 

"I know we're learning. We've been learning. Been working together. And…"

"Crowley, you're exhausted. You've been responsible, caring, confident, supportive. It's not easy in the best of times. I would recommend rest."

That's how they drive to their home a week later. Gabriel has volunteered to do all the physical work in the garden and nodded meaningfully when Crowley explained everything to him. 

Crowley suspects - and Aziraphale agrees - that Gabriel just wants to show his muscles off to Bea. 

"Do you think they fucked all over the place?" Crowley asks.

"I hope not, darling. It's not a brothel… and if it is, it's just ours."

Crowley just nods. Aziraphale rubs his knee and gives him a careful kiss on the cheek. 

It begins to snow when they reach their home. It's dark, the garden looks neat and a bit less abandoned. 

"That's… not bad," Crowley concludes, having inspected the place. Aziraphale is waiting for him by the kitchen window. 

"Can you get back inside now, darling?" Aziraphale asks. He's warming his hands on a hot cup of tea. 

"I can… I can. Yes."

He enters the house through the back door and steps right into Aziraphale's embrace. "There you are, love. There you are… I missed you."

"Missed you too," Crowley agrees.

"Why don't we have a bath and then go to bed?"

"You're so clever, angel," Crowley replies. 

He hasn't realised how right both Ela and Aziraphale are: he is indeed exhausted, he can't make himself move after the bath, he barely has enough strength to get into the bath in the first place… 

Aziraphale carries him to the bed. Crowley falls asleep on Aziraphale's shoulder. He doesn't dream, which is a first for him, he doesn't toss and turn. 

On awakening, he meets Aziraphale's glowing blue eyes, caring and just a bit concerned. 

"What's wrong, angel?"

"My dear sleepyhead, it's four in the afternoon. You've slept for more hours than I care to count. Are you hungry?"

Crowley is. He's famished, in fact. 

But first, he sits up and holds Aziraphale, feels every crease and fold of Aziraphale's shirt and pants against his own naked skin. He shuts his eyes and tries very hard to convince his brain to keep this memory somewhere solidly safe; to keep it along with the memory of how to breathe and move. 

"You alright, love?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. "No. I… I don't want to forget you."

"You think I'll let you?" Aziraphale chuckles. "Which, ironically, reminds me. Where's my ring, Crowley?"

Crowley's head snaps up. "Ngk… ehm… a… in my wallet."

Aziraphale hums and reaches to unclasp the chain Crowley wears his own wedding ring on. "Give me your hand, darling, if you please."

Crowley does, numbly. Aziraphale slides the ring on and kisses it. "There. I'll fetch your wallet and some food, alright?"

Crowley can only nod. He follows Aziraphale with his eyes and his heart might skip a few bits and break a few times before Aziraphale returns…

"You… you put it on, angel. Your choice."

Aziraphale puts the ring on with all the ease of someone who does it every day. Crowley swallows, feeling how dry his throat is. 

"Let's write a letter to ourselves, in case we forget," Aziraphale suggests. 

"You… are so clever."

"And you're a baby."

Crowley groans and falls back on the bed. 

_ Dear me,  _

_ You're married to Crowley. He's absolutely everything for you. You still don't remember a lot about yourself and him but trust yourself. You wouldn't be you if you hadn't recognised him on sight - even if you can't remember anything less. He'll never give up on you. He'll never leave you. He'll never goad you into anything. Don't you dare lose him. _

_ Aziraphale.  _

  
  


_ To me: _

_ Aziraphale is your husband. You love him silly. Looking at him, you surely understand. Trust him and give him a chance. He sure as hell has given you enough chances for a few lifetimes.  _

_ Most importantly, though, he loves you. He's a tease and a bit of a bastard, but he loves you. He's your rest and your work and everything in between. Yes, I just quoted Auden at you. That's how much you love Aziraphale and how much he loves you. Don't be an idiot.  _

_ Crowley. _

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit is welcome. It has to be polite, though. Thank you


End file.
